Traitors and Spies
by probablyquantum
Summary: AU SLASH! M/M. The clan's priest has an unfortunate run-in with an attractive Quarryman. Lexington is brokenhearted because of the way Brooklyn's life has turned out. Romance ensues. Now COMPLETE. Lexington/Brooklyn, Lexington/Puck, OC/OC.
1. Hate

**Author's note: **

Fandom: Disney's Gargoyles

Time: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

Special Notes: Very AU with OCs. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

Warnings: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death.

Genre: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

The rating is high for later chapters.

Disclaimer: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

**1. Hate**

It was an unlikely place for a hate crime. The club—Therapy—was among the most elite and trendiest gay clubs in Manhattan. The clientele were a wealthier sort. Obviously tolerated. Accepted, even. They didn't expect the ambush waiting for them in a dark alley on Ninth Street.

The thugs were young, drunk, and probably what the humans called straight. Pilgrim had spotted them loitering in the shadows, doing everything they could to look suspicious. There were five of them, three with blades, one with a crowbar, and one with a pistol. So Pilgrim had settled down across the street from them. No one noticed the gargoyle perched a few stories above them, hiding in plain sight next to a statue.

Pilgrim wasn't sure how the attackers picked their victim. Perhaps it was because he rushed out of the club alone, unlike most of the humans who left as a couple. Perhaps it was because he moved without regard for his safety, his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained on his feet.

As he passed the alley, a hand yanked him into the shadows, and Pilgrim sprang forward, his wings unfolding to slow his descent. There wasn't much wind resistance built up from such a low take-off, though, so his landing behind the group in the alley was rough. When he turned, he saw that the victim was not completely defenseless: the man had somehow managed to take possession of the crowbar and was fending off two knife-wielding men. That their prey could fight back must have caught them off-guard.

The one with the gun, though, pulled his weapon from the front pocket of his hoodie and took aim. Pilgrim growled and dove at the man, knocking him against the wall. He heard a crack as the human's head hit brick, and taking advantage of the man's daze—hopefully a concussion—Pilgrim grabbed the gun. Matt had shown him how to switch on the safety, which he now did, and turned to the four remaining attackers. Their victim had fallen to his knees, but he was staring wide-eyed at Pilgrim.

"Excuse me, boys," he said, drawing his dagger from its sheath on his belt, "but might I join the fun?"

The action paused as the men looked from the gargoyle to their fallen gunman. Then the three with knives abandoned their original prey for a more interesting target. Pilgrim tossed the pistol over their heads and, to his delight, the man caught it easily. Pilgrim grinned and drew his sword now that his right hand was free.

He kicked the knee of the human who'd gotten to him first, and the man fell with a cry. The second he disarmed with a slash of his dagger across the man's forearm, and Pilgrim jammed the hilt of his sword against his assailant's chest.

He looked up to see a third drop his knife and fall to his knees. The mysterious victim stood over him with a crowbar in one hand and the pistol in another. He pointed the pistol at the fourth man, who must have been the one with the crowbar. The unarmed attacker held up his hands and backed away a few paces before bolting into the busy street. A couple curious people peered into the alley, and whatever they saw in the gloom made them pick up their pace.

"Ye three had best be off, too," Pilgrim said to the others. They staggered to their feet and ran cursing from the alley. Pilgrim kept his dagger but sheathed his sword as he approached the first man, still lying unconscious on the pavement. He remembered the loud crack the human's skull had made and cringed, now worried that he hadn't been more cautious. Humans were so fragile.

He crouched over the man and felt for a pulse. He had just satisfied himself that the human was still alive when he heard an ominous click behind him. Now, too late, he realized his mistake.

Slowly, Pilgrim looked over his shoulder and saw the man with both hands on the gun, perhaps to steady his shaking right arm. The pistol was pointed straight at him, and at such a close distance Pilgrim didn't expect that nerves would make the man miss.

"I saved your life," he said, relieved that his voice should sound so calm.

The human hesitated. Pilgrim appraised the man he'd mistaken for an ally: pale skin, dark hair that hung in his eyes, expensive clothes, a gash on his forehead and the look of man who was preparing for a kill. His silk shirt had torn at the right shoulder, where a bloodstain had spread from a nasty gash from one of the attackers' knives. On his shoulder, bare now that the shirt had torn, Pilgrim saw a tattoo with a familiar sign: a Q with a hammer through it.

Gods help him, he'd given a gun to a Quarryman _and turned his back_.

Pilgrim switched his dagger to his right hand and leaped at the man, knocking him back. The gun went off—a near miss—but stayed in the man's hand even as he landed on the cold ground with Pilgrim on top of him. Pilgrim stabbed the man in his right shoulder, feeling his jagged blade hit bone, and ripped the dagger back. The man's flesh tore on the way out—his dagger was designed for that effect—and he screamed in agony.

Pilgrim grabbed the gun and ran deep into the shadows of the alley, sheathing his dagger and dropping the gun as he climbed the balconies to the rooftops. He took to the air and did not look back.


	2. The Power Keg, Six Months Later

**2. The Powder Keg (Six Months Later)**

Pilgrim admired Lexington from the doorway. A headset, some light armor, and a state-of-the-art something-or-other at his fingertips. Lex was in his element. "Brooklyn," Lex said into his mic, "You've got three bogeys at six o'clock. Back a ways, about a mile, but they're there."

"Roger." Brooklyn's crackling voice drifted into Pilgrim's own headset. Pilgrim closed the door behind him and sat in the chair beside Lex and placed his hand possessively at the small of Lex's back while they watched the radar screen. Moving back into the castle had its risks, but at least Xanatos saw that Lex never ran out of new toys.

Lexington had his wings folded like a mantle across his shoulders. Pilgrim reached up and tucked a stray lock of Lex's black hair behind his earpiece. He could hear Elisa and Matt talking with Goliath in the next room, but for now they were alone, and he intended to take advantage of this rare moment of privacy.

Lex turned the volume down on his headset and switched the mic off. Pilgrim did the same. "Hi." Lex leaned over and kissed him quickly. "How are you?"

"Good, I suppose."

Lex gave him a worried glance, one distracted eye still on the radar. Enemy blips disappeared one by one, leaving only Brooklyn, Angela, and Broadway. "You don't sound so sure."

"I'd be better if you could take a break."

Lex's slight smile faded. He seemed to notice Pilgrim's wandering hands for the first time. "I wish I could, but I'm waiting on a decryption program. We intercepted a message from the Quarrymen just after sundown, and I need to monitor it."

Pilgrim sighed and nodded his acceptance. Lex returned to work. Pilgrim withdrew his hand from Lex's back and dutifully took over radio duty while Lex saw to other, more delicate tasks related to the castle's new defense systems.

For twenty minutes, the staccato rhythm of their radio communications between the several clan teams and the humans in Xanatos's employ absorbed Pilgrim's attention. When he was in the midst of declaring an all-clear, Lexington jumped up and interrupted him.

"Intercepted message. Attack planned on the IRC, which is holding a secret meeting at eight o'clock. Location looks like it's above a bar called The Zone in patrol area two. Sending the coordinates and address now."

"Damn. Okay, Lex, Pilgrim, we need you both on this one too. Tell Goliath we're awaiting his orders."

A team of six Quarryman, Lex reported in Pilgrim's earpiece. His partner was six stories above Pilgrim's own perch, surveying the scene in a shadowy corner so that no one could see him unless they knew where to look.

"Thing is," Lex was saying, "they've been there all night, hiding. Someone let them in."

"This is not the IRC's normal meeting place," Angela added to their subdued radio conversation. "They have been careful not to publicize their movements since the last attack."

"Brooklyn, Broadway, and I will enter through the fifth-storey windows," Goliath ordered. "Katana and Pilgrim, you must each guard the entrances and ensure that no one but the IRC members escape. Angela, I need you to enter through the second storey and alert the IRC. Get them out safely and signal me when you have done so. Lexington, you are our lookout and will join Angela when she exits. Then my team shall deal with the Quarrymen."

On Goliath's signal, the clan moved forward.

With a nod to Katana, Pilgrim glided down to the front door. He stood off to the side, feeling exposed in such a public place. The street was not quiet enough. There were no pedestrians, but traffic was steady. He slunk next to the stairs and hoped no one looked too closely at the building. Pilgrim felt a twinge of guilt; it had been Lexington's idea to provide a safer meeting place for the Interspecies Relations Council. He'd begged Pilgrim to make contact with them, and even begged Goliath to override Pilgrim's authority. Now, sitting in the dark and seeing how little protection there was for them, experienced a moment of regret. These were just humans standing up for complete strangers, and they put themselves in so much danger that they had to rotate meeting places. Pilgrim had thought that talking to them, letting the Quarrymen think the IRC was succeeding, the Quarrymen would come after them specifically. Obviously, they were a target either way. He'd talk to Goliath soon about that, he resolved. There was still time to fix his mistake.

Occasional updates crackled in his ear, interrupting his thoughts. He and Lex had been the clan's defensive team for almost a year now. Although he did not relish standing back from the action, Lexington seemed to thrive in his advisory position.

"Lex, I'm sending you a picture," Brooklyn said. "It's a bomb. I think."

"Got it. That's C-4, but not the detonation device. Be careful. There might be triggers anywhere."

"Katana, the Quarrymen are headed your way. Be ready," Broadway reported.

"Understood."

There was a brief commotion, a radio message cut off, and a scream from inside.

"What's going on inside?" Lex asked.

But there was no answer.

Pilgrim tensed and rested both hands on the hilts of his weapons.

The door burst open and out poured several humans. Pilgrim stayed where he was, though: the humans were clearly IRC members, dressed in solid middle-class attire and obviously terrified.

Angela was not with them. That was a problem. Swearing, he ran forward into the light.

The blond woman he recognized from television and newspapers: Maureen Johnson, their president. There were about ten people with her. To their credit, if they were surprised to see him, they did not show it. "Across the street, away from the building," he called, catching up to them where they had paused on the sidewalk.

He held Maureen's arm as the others moved to obey him. "Ma'am, did you see anyone of my clan inside?"

She nodded. "One."

"Who?" he asked, then realized that it was a useless question. "I mean, what did they look like?"

"A woman with black hair."

"Good. Thanks. You need to get out of here. There's a—" He said "bomb," but the explosion drowned out his voice.

He put an arm around her shoulders and dove into the traffic, most of which had halted anyway to see the fire. The sight of him stopped the rest, he was sure, because the next thing he knew he was across the street, standing next to Lexington and staring at the building.

"There are more," Lex said in his ear over the commotion from the growing crowd and approaching sirens.

It was becoming too public, so Pilgrim and Lex moved to the back of the small knot of IRC members for some cover. Maureen understood, at least, and seemed to be organizing her friends to help them look inconspicuous. "Where is everyone?" he asked.

Lex shrugged. "We need to get inside. They're not answering."

"Excuse me," Maureen said. "Look, your clan is okay. They're over there."

Pilgrim looked across the street to see Brooklyn, Angela, Broadway, and Katana near the building, too near the police cars and fire engine that had begun to tackle the flames. He could not see them clearly.

"For God's sake," Lex said, "someone answer your damn radio."

"Wait." Pilgrim pulled him closer. A gap had opened up between Maureen, a stalled taxi, and a police car. "Stand over here."

Lex froze when he saw what Pilgrim could already see. Broadway held Angela back from the building; she struggled to go back inside. A few feet away, Katana was trying to hold back Brooklyn from the same suicidal mission, but she was not strong enough, or Brooklyn was too desperate.

Brooklyn broke away and ran back through the front door.

"Goliath's still in there," Pilgrim said.

He could feel Lexington shudder and, feeling almost ridiculous, grabbed him before he could do the same. "Relax," Lex said, more calmly than Pilgrim expected.

"Sorry."

Lexington's hand was shaking as he brought his hand up to switch on his earpiece. "Brooklyn, if you can hear me, you need to get out. The place was rigged, and probably with more than one bomb. If the fire spreads beyond the main room, you won't have a warning. Get out. Please, brother."

Lex turned his back to the burning building, as if he couldn't bear to watch.

It was Pilgrim's turn. "Goliath, if you're there, come in."

Nothing.

Nothing for the longest time, which could only have been a few seconds.

Then Goliath's voice whispered in his ear: "Brooklyn. Get out. That's an order." The voice was weak. He was in pain.

And then the terrible vibrations of another blast, far larger this time, burned Pilgrim's face even from the distance. He thought there must have been sound, as well, but that faculty seemed to have failed him.

He focused again, and saw Lexington with his eyes clamped shut and his hand over his mouth.

Something scratched at the bricks above him and scaled the wall, landing with a light thud. Brooklyn put a hand on his shoulder, something Brooklyn had never done before. Pilgrim wondered briefly what expression he wore.

"Come on," Brooklyn said, although his voice sounded hollow and strained. "Thank you for having the presence of mind to summon Xanatos's men, Lex. We need to get on the choppers. Now."

Were there helicopters? Pilgrim wondered. Is that why it was suddenly so loud?

"Snap out of it. Both of you have jobs to do. Damn it, Lex, you know better. Let's go!"

Pilgrim wasn't sure how he got on the helicopter, but soon he was watching the scene fall swiftly away from him.

There should have been wailing. Or crying. Shouting, even. Anything but the awkward silence of five gargoyles and two humans glaring at CNN. The private offensive launched by Xanatos Enterprises to recover Golliath's body was not endearing the company to the public.

Xanatos shrugged off concerns about his criminal liability with a grimace. "I'm sure the city will settle with a hefty fine."

"I was wrong about ye, lad," Hudson said. Xanatos raised an eyebrow. "Ye're not such a bad sort after all."

Xanatos nodded his thanks.

Pilgrim held his head in his hands and propped his elbows on the conference table. He was aware that Lexington was leaning against the wall behind him. Lex hadn't said anything so far; he just stared at the screen and waited.

Brooklyn and Broadway were seated together at the table. Broadway occasionally stole a glance at the door, and Brooklyn would shake his head. Angela would not talk to him, he'd explained, because he held her back from going into the burning building. She was with Fox, Elisa, Katana, Nash, and Tachi, somewhere in a more private part of the castle. Elisa, Pilgrim had been told, was inconsolable. Matt's eyes were still red, but he had joined them a few moments ago. He preferred the stoic suffering in the war room, he'd said.

The reporter announced the sudden withdrawal of private security forces. With a sigh, Pilgrim turned around to ask Lex if they should go to the helipad to meet them, but Lex was not there anymore.

"Where did Lex go?" he asked, suddenly alert.

Broadway shrugged. "He slipped out a while back. I figured he wanted to be alone, you know?"

Pilgrim hesitated. "I'm going to make sure."

Brooklyn did not protest, so Pilgrim went first to Lexington's computer room. He wasn't there. A terrible thought occurred to him, and he wanted to believe that he was just projecting his own urges onto Lexington. But a few steps into the armory and a glance at the gun case confirmed his suspicions.

He bolted back into the room and startled all the occupants to standing. "Lex is gone. He's going to kill Castaway."

Xanatos and Matt looked shocked, but each started to pull on his jacket. Broadway looked worried and glanced at Brooklyn. "Uh, this is _Lex_ we're talking about. He wouldn't hurt a fly. He's probably just getting some air."

Hudson nodded. "It doesn't seem like him, lad. How do ye know this?"

Pilgrim tried to catch his breath. "He took a sniper rifle from the armory. And I know he—" He looked from one to another and pulled out his palm computer. "The tracer says he's headed to their headquarters. What else is he going to do with a sniper rifle there?"

Broadway and Hudson both stood, but Brooklyn stayed seated. "But it's Lexington. I can't believe he'd do something so out of character."

Pilgrim growled, which surprised even himself. "Have ye given him a good look lately? A good, close look? He's been _out of character_ for a long time now."

Brooklyn gave him the uncomprehending, hurt look that Pilgrim expected. "But he doesn't use guns. I doubt he's ever fired one in his life. It doesn't make sense."

"Are ye accusing our brother of not being able to work a machine as simple as a gun?"

Brooklyn finally nodded and stood, but suddenly Pilgrim did not want to be anywhere near him.

"Forget it, brother," Pilgrim said. "Everyone can stay here. I should go alone."

"Are you sure, lad?" Hudson asked.

"Aye. This is between him and me. I will go. Do nae worry."

He found Lexington lying down on a ledge, the long rifle set up and ready to fire. Across the street, he could see shadows of men meeting in a room with a large window. "How long have ye been here?"

Lexington was not startled. He must have seen Pilgrim approach on his own computer. "Twenty minutes," Lexington said. He sighed and climbed to his feet, still gripping the gun too tightly in his hands.

Pilgrim gingerly wrapped his hands around Lexington's, so that they held the gun between them. "Ye cannae shoot him, ye know."

"He deserves it."

Pilgrim kissed Lexington's neck and whispered, "Aye. But it's not him ye're angry with. And killing him won't change that."

"I _am_ angry with Castaway."

"As—what is the word? Proxy?"

"How can you not be mad? How can you just let him go? Stand here, with a gun in your hand, and not kill him?"

"Years of practice. I . . . have killed, brother. I have done what ye wish to do. And I tell ye, it does not help."

Lexington didn't answer. It was as much about his past as Pilgrim had told anyone, and he watched as Lexington processed the significance of the admission. He shifted uncomfortably under Lex's gaze and continued, eyes lowered. "I understand, ye see. I know ye think that without Goliath, Brooklyn will never notice ye. That it will make it even worse between ye two."

Lexington let go of the gun and crossed his arms. He turned his head and blinked back tears.

"And ye're right," Pilgrim finished. "He will continue to ignore ye."

"You think this is about Brooklyn?" Lex asked, his voice choked. "Why can't you believe that it really is about Goliath?"

Pilgrim set the rifle carefully on the ground and tried to embrace Lex, but Lex shrugged him off. "I've seen how changed ye have been since Brooklyn returned with Katana. Brooklyn spoke sharply to ye tonight."

Lexington stared at him.  
"Are ye in love with him? Tell me that, at least."

"Sounds like you already know." There was a hardness to Lexington's voice that was not normally there. Ordinarily, Lexington's voice was sweet, gentle, accommodating, but never angry.

Pilgrim ignored the tight knot in his stomach and the feeling that his heart was being ripped in half. "Ye don't think ye owe it to me, to tell me? Will ye at least be honest and tell me whether ye love me as well?"

Lex drew a ragged breath. "I'm sorry."

So this was it, then. "I cannae take this anymore, Lex. We are done."

"What?" Lex bit his lip. "No. I'm sorry. I _do_ love you, I just . . . ."

Pilgrim sighed and pressed their foreheads together. "I know. Ye are a kind person, brother. Ye will say anything to spare my feelings. Ye do nae have to."

"Th—thanks." Lex shuddered and tried to hug him, but Pilgrim pulled away and picked up the rifle.

"Wait," Lex said as Pilgrim turned to leave. "I, I've been meaning to ask you something." Pilgrim rested the butt of the rifle on the ground and waited. Lexington wrung his hands for a moment, then continued, "I want to go to Detroit."

Pilgrim blinked. "Detroit? The city in Michigan?"

Lexington nodded, looking hopeless.

"What on earth is there? And how long have you been meaning to tell me this?"

"Two months." Lexington cringed at whatever he saw on Pilgrim's face. Pilgrim couldn't fathom what it was; emotions flickered through him too fast for recognition. "Xanatos offered me a job, doing work with a team of his scientists."

"What is in Detroit that you could not have here?"

"A particle accelerator. A lack of Quarrymen."

"A lack of Brooklyn, you mean."

Lexington studied his feet. "I need your permission, as priest, right? If I get yours, I won't need to explain it to him."

"We need ye here. We cannae spare another after tonight."

"Xanatos can give you men. We're working with him now, and he can give you as many people as you want."

Pilgrim felt a sharp pain in his chest. "I am too biased to judge the matter, so I will not stand in yer way. If ye wish to go, go now, before the rest of the clan realizes what ye intend and stops ye."

"You mean?"

"Aye, I grant ye permission. Just go."

Lexington nodded, his expression almost relieved. He dove off the side of the building and took off into the night. Pilgrim collapsed on the ledge and watched the Quarrymen's shadows against the window for a very long time, his hands caressing the rifle.


	3. An Unlikely Spy

**3. An Unlikely Spy**

Explaining Lexington's absence was difficult. He even managed to feel a pang of sympathy for Xanatos when Brooklyn rounded on him.

"I'm sorry, Brooklyn, but Lexington wanted to go. I simply made him an offer that was beneficial to both of us." Xanatos poured an amber liquid into a glass and handed it to Brooklyn as a peace offering.

Brooklyn ignored the proffered glass. "You're not allowed to make deals with members of my clan. Just the clan as a whole."

"I'm sorry, Brooklyn. I will keep that in mind in the future, but the deal with Lexington is done."

"Send. Him. Back."

"I'm afraid that's not up to you." Xanatos smiled in that infuriating way of his, and Pilgrim's sympathy pang vanished. "Pilgrim here has jurisdiction over cultural matters, doesn't he?"

Brooklyn glared at Pilgrim. "Yeah, well that's a whole other argument."

"He wanted to leave. What was I supposed to say?"

"I don't know, that he was unbalanced and upset and maybe shouldn't be making life-altering decisions in that state?"

Pilgrim rolled his eyes. "He's wanted to go for a while now. It is better to give him space."

"Since when is Lex the creepy loner of the family?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That you're a bad influence, is what."

"Hardly." Pilgrim took the glass from Xanatos, who was looking nervously from one gargoyle to another. He gulped the alcohol down; it turned out to be ] Scotch. Xanatos looked visibly pained at his expensive alcohol disappearing without being savored. Pilgrim let the fire subside before he turned a hateful glare on Brooklyn. "Ye think I'd let him go if there was another way? Ye'd think I'd let him go if it weren't _you_ he wanted after all that?"

"What!—you don't know what you're talking about."

"Nay, I suppose not. Lex saying he's in love with you, I must have misinterpreted that."

Brooklyn didn't have a retort. He wasn't really that blind; he had to have known.

Pilgrim sighed and looked down at the table, where Xanatos had spread the New York Times. The leading headline covered the previous night's battle. A picture of Maureen answering questions before a news crew was splashed across the page. But it was the human on her right that caught his eye.

"Brooklyn?"

"What now?" he snapped.

"We have a problem."

Maureen Johnson and her inner circle met in a warehouse owned by one of the members' shipping business. Lexington had discovered their routines and addresses long ago with characteristic ease. Now, Pilgrim crouched in the shadows behind the door, waiting just inside until they arrived. Without Lexington's ability to hack into various surveillance devices throughout the city, they did not know for certain that they would meet so soon after the . . . incident.

Brooklyn was leaning against the table in the center of the sparse room, doing his best to look casual. Occasionally, their eyes met, and Pilgrim could see Brooklyn's resolve breaking down. Too much had happened in too short a time, they had decided on the way here. It was best to ride out the aftershocks.

Ten minutes late, he heard a jingle of keys on the other side of the door. He braced himself and stilled his breathing so as to make no noise. The door swung open, and Maureen walked in. She made it only one step when she gave a small cry and clasped her hand to her heart.

"Sorry to break in," Brooklyn said. "I hope you don't mind some company."

It was to her credit that she recovered so quickly. "No. No, that's fine. More than fine. You're always welcome here." She strode forward and held out her hand in greeting, which Brooklyn took.

Two of her companions, a male and a female, followed suit. One, Pilgrim knew from the files, was Maureen's husband, and another was a friend of theirs, a lawyer. But the fourth one, a male, hesitated at the door.

Pilgrim stood and shut the door to block the exit. At the unexpected sound, the fourth human jerked his head around and gaped, wide-eyed, at Pilgrim.

There could be no mistake now. It was the Quarryman who had attacked him six months ago.

The other three humans turned to watch the curious exchange.

"What's going on?" Maureen asked. The quiver in her voice showed that she was frightened. Of Pilgrim's hateful glare, no doubt.

"I would like to say I'm here to discuss IRC business," Brooklyn said, his tone apologetic, "but we're here for _him_."

Pilgrim drew his dagger and took a step toward the human. He held up a newspaper in his left hand, folded so that his face showed just to the right of Maureen's. "Did ye really think we wouldn't notice?" he asked in his best intimidating manner.

"What's this about?" Maureen interrupted. Now she sounded indignant. "Jamie has been nothing but a loyal supporter. Leave him alone."

Pilgrim set his jaw and pressed the tip of his dagger to Jamie's chest. For his part, Jamie was shaking, and beads of sweat had formed on his brow. His dark eyes shifted from Pilgrim to the door. He could see he was trapped.

"Give me your weapons and take off your shirt," Pilgrim ordered.

Jamie's eyes could not have been wider.

"_What_?" Maureen asked. "I don't understand. We're trying to help you. Why are you threatening him?"

"Maureen," Jamie said miserably, "it's . . . it's okay."

He retrieved a small handgun from behind his back and handed it to Pilgrim, who slipped it into the satchel at his waist. Jamie then pulled his green t-shirt over his head and held his chin higher in a show of defiance.

Pilgrim let his eyes deliberately examine the human's bare chest. If he came off as intrusive or lewd, so much the better. He wanted the human nervous.

The room had grown very still, and Pilgrim knew the remaining humans had seen the tattoo.

"Jamie?" Maureen asked in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Maureen," he answered.

Pilgrim blinked at how sincere and tortured the man sounded.

He recovered his senses when his eyes fell on a nasty red scar on Jamie's right shoulder. It was a few inches long, and it looked like the flesh had torn in several angles. It was not a simple stab wound from a straight blade.

"Get him out of my sight," Maureen said, turning her back.

"What's going on here?" Maureen's husband, Cecil Johnson, put his arms around his wife. He lifted the dagger to the spot where it had been a few months before. He let the tip sink in just enough to cause Jamie to draw an unsteady breath in anticipation, and he held it there. Jamie whispered something to him, his eyes begging and desperate. It sounded like "Please don't," but it was so quiet that Pilgrim could not be sure.

He had come for a fight, not to torment a sniveling creature. "Don't what?" he whispered.

Jamie swallowed. "Don't tell them . . . why I was attacked."

Pilgrim supposed that was fair. He nodded and raised his voice so the others could hear. "I saved his life, he tried to shoot me, and I stabbed him. A common enough story. Does it still hurt, Mr. Nichols? How long did it take to heal?" Jamie did not reply, though his mouth seemed to be working on saying something. "I imagine it does still pain you sometimes. That is good. Ye should sit down."

"Yes," Brooklyn said with forced cheer. "Let's all sit down and have a nice, rational conversation about this."

"You're Brooklyn?" Jamie asked, making no move toward the table.

"The one and only."

"How about you call off your thug? Then I'll talk."

Pilgrim narrowed his eyes while Brooklyn let out a quick breath from his nose that could have been a laugh. "Spies really should do their homework," Brooklyn said. "See, I get that our culture is foreign to you. You don't get it, and you probably don't want to. But one thing we do have in common is the separation of powers. I'm the president, the commander in chief, the whole goddamn executive branch. Pilgrim here is our Supreme Court."

"You mean your judge, jury, and executioner."

Pilgrim forced himself to smile in a way that he hoped looked threatening.

Brooklyn nodded. "So if you're under the impression that he's _just_ a thug, you should know that he is _the_ scariest _person_ I've ever met, and I've met some real winners in my life. He's running the show tonight, so maybe you should stop the name-calling and start playing nice."

"Brooklyn told ye to sit down," Pilgrim added. "I suggest ye obey."

Jamie backed up slowly and joined everyone else who had reluctantly taken seats at the conference table. Pilgrim perched on the tabletop next to Jamie's chair, which was on the very end. Two empty seats stood between him and Maureen, who was staring with watery eyes at Pilgrim and Jamie. Pilgrim tried to ignore her open examination of him. When humans started doing that, Pilgrim had learned, they were looking at his tattoos and not at him.

He ignored her and focused on Jamie, who sat too upright in his chair for comfort. He folded his hands and put them on the table, his knuckles white from the strain.

"First things first," Brooklyn began. "How many other spies have you got in the IRC?"

Jamie looked up at Brooklyn in what Pilgrim guessed was surprise, or at least feigned surprise. "None. It's just me."

"Let's try that again."

Pilgrim tangled his fingers through the hair at the base of the human's neck with his left hand and leaned in with his dagger. He locked his gaze with the man's hazel eyes and said, "How many, Mr. Nichols?"

"None," Jamie breathed.

Pilgrim pushed the dagger into the scar tissue, just enough to break the skin. Jamie made a strangled sound in his throat as he struggled not to scream. A fresh line of blood trickled down from the wound. The other humans were conspicuously silent. "Stop, please! There's no one, I swear!"

Jamie must have lost whatever nerve had kept him in the chair until then, because he grabbed Pilgrim's right hand and tried to push him up enough so that he could stand. Pilgrim was stronger than the human, though, so it was a simple matter to push back enough to slide the blade in another half-inch.

"God, don't, please! It's just me, I swear! They didn't want it to look suspicious. Please don't." Tears had welled in his eyes.

Pilgrim stilled his hand and glanced at Brooklyn, who nodded. He released the man from his grasp, gently untangling his hand from Jamie's, and hopped off the table. He pulled out the chair directly across the table from Jamie and sat down so that he faced the spy. He twirled the dagger idly in his hands.

"I take it you're the one who set the trap? The reason we've had a change in management?" Brooklyn asked.

Jamie, who seemed to be catching his breath and regaining some emotional control, blinked rapidly and nodded.

"Thank you for your honesty. You can, uh, put your shirt back on now."

Jamie looked down and seemed to notice for the first time that he'd laid his shirt on the table. He grabbed it, but Pilgrim cleared his throat. He pulled a small rag from his pouch and held it out. "For the blood," he explained. Jamie grabbed the rag and wiped some of the blood from his shoulder before putting his shirt on. He pulled his collar to one side and held the rag under his shirt to keep the blood from soaking through.

"What are you going to do with me?" Jamie asked Brooklyn. His voice was steadier now, and his trembling had subsided. Only his pale skin showed that he was still frightened.

Pilgrim watched Brooklyn give the human a long, thoughtful look.

When no answer seemed forthcoming, Jamie continued, "I can take it. What are you going to do? Take me to your ship, experiment on me? Make me disappear?"

Brooklyn snorted. "You've got to be kidding me."

Pilgrim raised an eyebrow ridge. "We have never been accused of being a seafaring people."

Brooklyn was still laughing. "I don't think he means that kind of ship, brother. It's your accent, I think; maybe we should ask Scotty to beam us up. No, or better yet, maybe we should play some music to tell the mothership we're ready to leave orbit. Or maybe—"

"Enough," Pilgrim interrupted, slowly understanding. "Ye're being rude." This earned him another snort and a chuckle. He turned back to the Quarrymen, who was looking dumbfounded. So Castaway didn't tell ye everything he knew about us, then?"

"What—what do you mean?"

"Just because humans do nae remember us, does not mean we have nae been here all along."

"Castaway's family and Clan Wyvern go way back," Brooklyn said, having regained his composure. "A thousand years back, give or take a couple centuries. We're just as terrestrial as you lot."

Pilgrim noticed the three IRC members exchanging glances. The lawyer looked gleeful; perhaps they were calculating the results of bets.

Jamie looked from Brooklyn to Pilgrim. "What are you then?"

"Oh, we have many names. The hill folk. Our hounds safeguard the Britons' borders. The guardians. We are related to the fair folk, the fae. We are very old."

Jamie didn't seem to know what to say to that. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked instead.

The other three humans weren't fairing much better than Jamie. They were all pale and clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Maureen was still glaring at him. He met her gaze for a moment, then guiltily put away his dagger. When he looked back, she had lowered her eyes to the table.

"No. Killing's not our style," Brooklyn said.

Jamie sat back in his chair, finally relaxing his spine into a more natural posture.

Brooklyn slid a black file folder across the table. "Blackmail, though. That's a different story."

Jamie knitted his brow and slowly pulled the file toward him. Pilgrim knew what was in it: all the sordid or ordinary details that made up Jamie Nichols's life. He identified the papers as Jamie flipped through them. His recent employment at a large accounting firm, his undergraduate and masters degrees from Cornell, the names and addresses of his immediate family: a father, mother, and a younger sister who attended Ithaca College. Evidence of his conservative political leanings: participation in rallies, places on boards of politically active groups. Gym memberships. Kick-boxing class registration forms. His credit report showed a recently mortgaged apartment in Manhattan.

Jamie's nonchalance faltered when he got to his medical records. He stared at the page for a long moment. "These are reports from my therapist."

"David Xanatos was busy today," Brooklyn told him. "It's amazing how quickly doctor-patient confidentiality disappears when his money gets involved. It's interesting reading. I can't imagine what your father would say if he knew some of the stuff in there. Or your fellow Quarrymen, for that matter. Your job is probably safe, but we can probably think up some inappropriate way to bring it to your supervisor's attention. We've made lots of copies of that, by the way. Chucking it into a shredder won't help you."

Jamie closed the file. "So what now?"

"Now," Brooklyn said, leaning back, "if you don't mind, Ms. Johnson, we'd like to sit in on your meeting."

Maureen looked from Brooklyn to Jamie. "With _him _sitting here?"

"Oh, our friend here? I'd be delighted for him to join us. It'll save us the trouble of the wiretapping and hacking. A little fib here and there to throw them off track wouldn't hurt either. What do you say, Mr. Nichols?"

Jamie slid the file back across the table. "They'd know. I'm not a good liar."

Maureen crossed her arms.  
Brooklyn rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're just an honest guy, huh? So they find out, and you deserve what you get. Or you don't, and we tell them something you don't want them to know, and you _still_ deserve what you get. If I were you, I'd work on my deception skills."

"Pilgrim," Jamie said, lifting his eyes to the gargoyle across the table. "That's your name, right?"

"Aye."

"You're supposed to be a priest or a shaman or something, right?"

"Aye, correct again."

"Can I talk to you? Alone?"

"What? As a priest?"

"Something like that."

Pilgrim looked to Brooklyn for permission. Brooklyn shrugged. "Go cuddle. We'll be talking strategy."

"Excuse us," Pilgrim said, and he led Jamie into the next room. It was a large closet, a storage area for nondescript cardboard boxes. Jamie hugged himself and backed into the corner to lean his weight against the wall. Pilgrim braced for an attack or escape attempt, but none came.

"Ye wanted to talk?" he finally prompted.

Jamie cleared his throat but did not look up from the ground. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you."

Pilgrim raised an eyebrow ridge.

"I mean," Jamie stammered, "I wasn't at the time. I was scared, okay? But you did save my life. I realized that later, after I'd come to my senses."

"Ye have a funny way of showing yer thanks," Piglrim said.

"I know." There were tears in his eyes again, even though they didn't fall, and suddenly he looked very small—even though Pilgrim knew they were about the same size, if you ignored his wings and tail.

Pilgrim took a few steps forward so that he was just beyond arm's length from the human. "I am not going to hurt ye. Ye do nae have to cower like that."

"I'm not cowering." Jamie forced himself to take a half-step forward so that he was not cringing against the wall. "Better?"

"Aye. Thank ye."

Jamie sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair, but it fell back into his eyes afterward. "I tried to get out," he said. "I told them I was done, that I was tired of it." He looked to the blank wall at his left, as if seeing something in his mind's eye. "They told me I'd gone soft. Got stabbed and got scared. So they made me do this. God, you should've seen them. They would have killed me otherwise."

"Ye did not want to spy."

Jamie shrugged. "I'm really not a good liar."

"Ye did well enough here."

"Because I . . ." Jamie shrank back against the wall again. "Because I believed what they said. It was easy to blend in here. Maureen was a friend."

Pilgrim stared at him for a long moment, during which Jamie fidgeting and avoided his gaze. "Ye expect me to believe that?" he finally asked.

Jamie turned bright red—always a peculiar thing to watch in a human—and shrugged. "It doesn't matter if you do or don't."

Pilgrim nodded. "That's true enough. Ye—you are my responsibility," he said, trying to clear some of his accent as he often did when he was upset, so he could be sure the man understood. Jamie must have caught the correction because he finally looked into Pilgrim's eyes. Pilgrim saw hope there. "No, I do not believe you. But I choose to trust you, for now, even though you do not deserve it. You imply you want to help the IRC, and now you have a chance. A real chance."

Jamie marginally relaxed again. "I do want to help."

"Then you will have to prove it. You will do exactly what Brooklyn orders. And what I order."

"Deal."

Pilgrim pulled Jamie's gun from his satchel and handed it to him, handle first. Jamie looked surprised, but he took it. Before he let go, Pilgrim leaned in and whispered in Jamie's ear. "If you betray me, I swear I will kill you."

And then, very deliberately, Pilgrim turned his back and walked slowly out of the room, half expecting to hear a shot ring out.

It didn't.


	4. Barely Even Friends

**Traitors and Spies**

**4. Barely Even Friends**

It turned out that Jamie was _not_ a very good liar. But he was passable. Pilgrim listened via the wire while Jamie told his commander that the IRC was not meeting for some time due to the recent successful attack. The next scheduled public meeting, he relayed, was not until June.

"They're lying low?" the commander asked.

"Uh, yeah. They think it's too dangerous to meet right away. They're, ah, meeting informally every week, instead. Regrouping."

"Huh. They don't suspect anything?"

"No." Pilgrim let out his breath, relieved that Jamie's answer sounded sincere.

"Good."

Pilgrim relaxed and stared at the stars while the rest of the night's business played in his headset. Listening to the Quarrymen was a strange affair. Between bone-chilling conversations about how they were going to kill all his brothers and sisters, Pilgrim heard snippets of gossip and conversation that reminded him that the Quarrymen were more complicated than that. He didn't like to think of them as people.

* * *

Most of the people Jamie spoke to were not very kind to him. Pilgrim realized that Jamie must be a bit quieter than the others and quite a bit richer. Some of their insults challenged his masculinity, which he knew was a common human practice among males. But knowing what he did of current human culture and what he knew of Jamie's double life—trysts in alleys with men he'd never met before, according to Xanatos' file—the taunts took on a new dimension. He wondered if he was the only one who heard the tremble, the slightest of hesitations, in Jamie's voice in those situations. Somehow he doubted it.

Every night this week, Pilgrim had escorted Jamie to his apartment. They would talk about everything that had transpired at headquarters. Or more accurately, Jamie would talk and Pilgrim would listen to Jamie's interpretation. Then Pilgrim would leave without much ado.

Now, Pilgrim was leaning against the bar and reading a message on his tablet computer. Jamie took advantage of the rare moment of distraction to look at the gargoyle while he sipped his drink. Usually he just averted his eyes; he didn't want to be caught staring because he wasn't sure how the gargoyle would take it.

But Pilgrim had been even-tempered enough to listen to Quarrymen over the wire without incident, so he figured a few stolen glances could be forgiven. His ashen skin looked smooth, almost leathery. Jamie wondered exactly what his tattoos were—he was covered in intricate, indecipherable designs. Depending on the light, they alternately looked brown or even dark blue against his skin. His hair reminded him of Brooklyn's—long and shocking white—but he always kept it pulled into a bun and tied with a leather string. The style made him seem more like what he claimed to be, a priest, and less like the terrifying creature that had stabbed him.

He wore light armor that Jamie guessed must have been made by Xanatos Enterprises. It was a form-fitting, black Kevlar breastplate, designed especially for the shape of a gargoyle's body.

Pilgrim was the only member of the clan, so far as he could see, that wore a kilt. Again, it must have been because he was a priest. The other gargoyles had taken to wearing their clan tartan (dark blue with green and purple plaid) on armbands, perhaps to fit in better with modern attire. Jamie assumed that Pilgrim's was traditional dress.

"What?" Pilgrim asked, looking up from his reading.

"Sorry." He wondered if he looked as deer-in-the-headlights as he felt.

"What's on yer mind?"

"Um," he said, and grasped the only thought that came to him. "So I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Ask anything."

Jamie took a sip of his drink to stall. Eventually, though, he had to speak. He chose to address his ice cubes instead of the gargoyle. "The IRC meeting tonight. I was wondering if, well, you'd come with me."

"Come with ye? Why?"

"Um, well, it's Maureen. And everyone, I guess, but mostly her. She keeps giving me these . . . I don't know. Hateful looks. And your Angela and Broadway aren't that friendly, either."

"Hm. Maureen is the reason I stay away from the meetings. She does nae like me much, either."

"Yeah, I guess I knew that. She just . . . I think you just scared her, with the whole knife-pointing thing. Look, forget I said anything. I can handle it."

But Pilgrim shook his head. "Nay. Maureen used to be your friend?"

Jamie shrugged. "Yeah. Well, she was mine. I wasn't really a good friend to her."

"Never mind that. We will go together. What is the phrase? For moral support?"

"Yeah. Thanks," he mumbled.

The IRC had met under Clan Wyvern's auspices every day this week. At first they—and Jamie—had merely listened in awe as Angela explained their origins, the Vikings, the thousand years of stone. Jamie had had to bite his tongue and let the others ask question after curious question. He had a trove of his own to ask, but he knew that his input was not welcome. He listened to everything nevertheless. Last night the topic had finally shifted to how the IRC and the clan planned to further their mutual goal of interspecies peace. The clan seemed more focused on how to keep the IRC safe, truth be told, but at least Angela and Broadway were considering the agenda.

When Pilgrim and Jamie walked in a few minutes late and sat down together on the far end of the table, Jamie felt eyes dart toward them every so often, from every person there, as if they expected him to attack at any moment. It had only been four days, he knew, but he hoped it was going to get better than this. He still felt his face get red and heated when Maureen occasionally made eye contact with him. The quiver in her voice as their eyes locked always made his stomach twist with guilt.

Maureen was glaring at him now, but this time Jamie felt Pilgrim shift protectively closer to him, and Maureen's gaze flickered to his guardian. She did not remark on the priest's presence at all. It seemed that ever since she saw Pilgrim threaten to torture him, he was unwelcome in the meetings. Which didn't make any sense to Jamie; PR was supposed to be Pilgrim's domain, for God's sake. Why Pilgrim put up with it was beyond him.

"Perhaps Mr. Nichols would be willing to give us a report?" Maureen asked.

The sound of his name brought his attention back to the meeting, and he stifled the urge to cringe. It had always been "Jamie" before all Hell had broken loose. He looked around nervously at all the judging faces and nodded. "Sure. They think you're taking a break from meetings for the time being."

"That will nae last," Pilgrim added.

"He's right. They're not going to buy it for much longer. At some point they want to make another attack. In June, probably," Jamie said.

Maureen crossed her arms. "June? That's only five weeks from now."

"I had to think of some believable time. They wouldn't expect you to back down any more than that. It was hard enough getting them to believe you'd wait until June."

"Fine. What do we do when June comes, then?"

Broadway held up his hands in his easygoing way. "Leave that to us. We'll be ready for them."

"Speaking of the meetings," Angela added, her hand brushing against Broadways as she leaned forward in her own chair, "we should discuss how best to schedule them from now on. Meeting nightly is risky. I know it is soon, and you want to be sure you are safe, but we have all of your members' names and addresses. It is best if we allow David Xanatos to implement the security procedures we discussed last night."

"And what?" Cecil asked. "Go back to meeting every week in a different place? That didn't work out so well before."

"You did not have Xanatos Enterprises backing you then," Angela said. "You should have. We made a mistake in not helping you before now. We honestly thought you would be safer that way. But now we must focus on fixing the problem. Rotating meeting places is an excellent idea. We should also add random meeting times. I am going to give you closed-network radio devices. They communicate only with our network, and only through text messages. The set-up is simple, but our technology team tells us that the security framework is sophisticated."

Broadway passed around an unassuming box. "Mr. Nichols gets one, too, and so does everyone in the clan. We'll communicate only through these. Maureen, you'll get messages from Xanatos saying that all is clear for a meeting, and you'll call one if you feel free."

"I understand," she said.

When the box came round to him, he pulled a slender metal cell phone from the box. When he flipped it open, he saw that it had a simple QWERTY keyboard and a screen, nothing more. He slid it into his back pocket.

"Okay. Everyone understand the protocol? I'll send you a meeting time and place, and you'll need to RSVP. I need to know who to expect because if you don't show up, I want to know if it's because you're in trouble or if you're having dinner with your in-laws."

"Same difference," Frank, the lawyer who had been with them when Pilgrim and Brooklyn had ambushed him, muttered.

"But you get the idea," Maureen said to quell the group's nervous laughter. "Those are the logistics of how we'll operate in the next few months. And that leaves some time to discuss long-term planning. Councilman Jason Dvorak would like to talk about his campaign for mayor."

And so it went on. Only a week ago Jamie would have been right up there talking to the inner circle about his own ideas, now he was an outsider, barely tolerated. At least they were letting him sit in on the meetings for appearance's sake.

When the meeting was over, he turned to Pilgrim and asked, "So what am I supposed to do? Report back when she calls? Play a sleeper agent until then?"

Pilgrim nodded. "Aye. Ye can go back to your job every day, do whatever the Quarrymen require. Come to meetings when Maureen calls. Contact me after every meeting ye have with the Quarrymen."

And too soon, he was alone. The meeting adjourned, and Pilgrim disappeared with his brother and sister.

* * *

The week was torturously long. The clan was lying low, and Pilgrim had nothing to do. No _one_ to do, he amended. He sat on the roof and sulked. There had been no word from Lexington. Nashville and Tachi had managed to ask him for a few stories about Scotland, but in the end he'd convinced them to ask Hudson instead. Hudson needed the company after losing someone who was like a son to him. The children would cheer him up. Angela grieved in private with Broadway. Brooklyn turned to Katana. Elisa had buried herself in work, and she had Matt.

Jamie had only been to the Quarryman headquarters once since the last IRC meeting. They had debriefed via texting. He flipped open the cell phone and began to type a message when one announced its presence with a businesslike beep. It was from Jamie.

_Do you play chess?_ it said.

_No,_ he typed back. _I don't know how._

_Want to learn? We could have a real Kirk and Spock moment._

A few minutes on Wikipedia (Lex had taught him _some_ tricks, after all) told him about Captain Kirk and Commander Spock.

_Which one am I?_ he wrote back.

_Well, you have the ears for Spock._

This required a Google image search.

_Your comparison is logical. I'll be there soon. _

He hopped off the roof and glided through the air. Only when he was perched on the windowsill did it occur to him that this could be a trap.

It wasn't. Jamie invited him in and gestured to a chess board.

"Captain," he said good-naturedly.

"Commander. I can't believe you got the reference."

Pilgrim gave him a small smile but didn't admit that he'd had to do research. There seemed to be an uneasy truce in the making, and he didn't want to put Jamie on the defensive. "Xanatos plays this game with Owen," he said to change the subject.

"I picked it up in high school. Are you hungry?"

"Aye," he said. "I haven't eaten tonight."

"Okay. So, um, what do you eat?"

"Anything," Pilgrim said. "Except tomatoes."

"Why? Are you allergic or something?"

"Nay, I just do nae like them . We did nae have them in Scotland. They're native to the New World."

Jamie returned from the kitchen a few minutes later with salami sandwiches on wheat bread.

They took seats in front of the board, Pilgrim on the black side and Jamie on the white, and Jamie patiently explained the movement of the pieces and the goals of the game. They played for two hours, quietly concentrating and not bothering to converse about anything other than chess. Jamie pointed out tactical moves and showed him ways to plan traps for the black king.

When he got used to the game's rhythm, Pilgrim decided to ask the question that he'd wanted to ask for two weeks now.

"Say, Jamie," he began, "could I ask ye something?"

"Of course," Jamie replied, though he suddenly looked nervous.

Pilgrim moved a pawn to what he hoped was a sensible location and cleared his throat. "Why did ye join a hate group if ye are gay?" He didn't know where to look, so he pretended to plan his next move by staring at the pieces. "Does it nae seem . . . what is the word?"

"Hypocritical?"

"Aye."

Jamie stared at the board, too. Pilgrim was about to take the question back when Jamie said, "Because I'm not okay with it, I guess. With being gay, I mean. I know it makes me a hypocrite."

Pilgrim resisted the urge to agree. "Is that why ye asked me not to tell the others? Why Maureen and her friends do nae know?"

Jamie shrugged. "I don't want anyone to know."

"What were ye doing in that club, then? It is very public."

Jamie moved his knight to a place even Pilgrim could see what a bad location. "No one knows me there. I was on a date, actually, for the first time in . . . forever. Since college."

"Ye walked out alone, though."

"I got scared and ran out."

"Scared?"

Jamie sighed and made a show of abandoning the game. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. "Don't get me wrong. I . . . go out a lot. I cruise strange guys on the subway. I've had a lot of sex. But sex is easy. A relationship is complicated."

"Have ye never had a relationship?"

"Once. Like I said, in college. It didn't last."

"What happened?"

"He wanted me to come out. He wanted to go out in public with me. I wasn't ready. We broke up."

Pilgrim worked up some more courage. "I do nae understand all this nonsense. The labels, the straight humans and the gay ones," he explained. "And I have tried. Why does it matter so much?"

Jamie shrugged. "Humans are weird about sex."

"So I have noticed."

Jamie fiddled with his shirt sleeve while asking, "What does your clan think of it, then?"

"Of what? Sex?"

"Of homosexuality."

Pilgrim made a noncommittal sound. "There was nae such thing in Scotland, ye know. It is a modern word."

"There were still homosexuals."

"Oh, aye. They were just nae conceived as such. _My_ clan was more tolerant than Clan Wyvern." He realized what he'd said when Jamie's sat up straighter, suddenly curious.

"What do you mean, _your_ clan?"

"Ach, it is a long story. I am a newcomer to Clan Wyvern. My original clan lived among one of the last surviving human groups called Picti."

"You're a pict? A pagan, like with the blue paint and everything?"

"Our humans were. We were nae called that. But aye, the humans were the painted ones. My first language is Pictish, and I learned Gaelic from Clan Wyvern."

"Pictish. Wow. Why'd you leave your first clan? What happened to them?"

Pilgrim hesitated. He fought his conscience for a moment and won. "They died," he said. "The Christians finally conquered the last of the pagans."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Jamie tried to look him in the eye, but Pilgrim avoided that and waved a hand over the board. "Never ye mind. It's yer move."

He waited while Jamie moved a rook. He wasn't sure why the human made the move—the strategy was still eluding him—so he was surprised from his thoughts of chess when Jamie spoke again. "So Clan Wyvern lived with the Christians. They're not as tolerant of people like me, then?"

Here, Pilgrim felt he was on more solid footing. "The Christians, certainly. But Clan Wyvern does nae concern itself much with human morals. We do nae have categories of people who like one sex or the other. Lex liked to say it is because we considered males and females equals. No 'patriarchy,' he would say."

And for the second time that night, Pilgrim wished he'd have stayed silent. "Lex? That's your mysterious missing clan member?"

"Aye," Pilgrim said, and moved a pawn at random to distract the human. He did not want to talk about Lexington.

"Check."

Pilgrim acknowledged Jamie's easy victory with a small smile and bowed head.

"So this Lex guy . . . ."

Pilgrim studied the board, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong.

"Wow, you really don't want to talk about him, do you?"

Pilgrim shrugged. "We do nae leave the clan. It is nae supposed to be an option. It is nae a job that ye can quit. He should be here."

Jamie's silence suggested he did not know what to say. Pilgrim tried to remember what they were talking about before he had mentioned Lexington. Homosexuals. "Do ye truly not desire females?"

Jamie blinked. "Yeah. That's right."

"And most human males truly do not desire other males?"

"Um, yeah. It's the default."

"What is that word, default?"

"The standard. The, I don't know, what's considered normal. Being gay's a variation on the norm. You're supposed to assume all men—males—are heterosexuals. If you find out otherwise you can change how you act around them."

"That is unusual. I do nae understand it. I doubt any of my kind can." Jamie looked defensive, so Pilgrim continued, hoping that more words would make the insult seem less serious. "But then ye would not understand our . . . default." He tried out the new word; his English vocabulary was getting bigger now that he was having regular conversations with a human. He had always been quiet around Matt and Elisa; often his kinsmen spoke in Gaelic for his sake.

"And what's that?"

"I do nae know the word." He'd learned it at some point—from Lexington. "But ye have a name for it. We do nae look to whether ye are male or female. It does nae matter to us."

"Bisexual?"

"Aye. That's the word."

"Another rematch?"

"Aye."

* * *

"Sabotage," Brooklyn announced when Pilgrim returned from Jamie's apartment.

"What about it?" Broadway asked.

"We're going to use our spy to hoist Castaway on his own petard."

Pilgrim frowned. "On his what?"

Pilgrim might have been confused, but Broadway was grinning. "That's great! But . . . how?"

"Easy." Brooklyn held up a stack of paper. "It's all in here. Gather round."


	5. Then Somebody Bends

**Fandom**: Disney's Gargoyles

**Time**: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

**Special** **Notes**: Very AU with OCs. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

**Warnings**: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death. The rating is high for later chapters.

**Genre**: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

**Disclaimer**: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

* * *

**Traitors and Spies**

**5. Then Somebody Bends**

* * *

The plan was simple. The Quarrymen had been building a computer system capable of defeating Lexington's impressive defense system. If that happened, they could attack the castle successfully by overriding the defensive systems, and they would have all the available information on the clan. Xanatos's tech team couldn't match Lexington's ingenuity, but they had come up with a way to set the Quarrymen back several months. If they could get into Castaway's command center, they could install a kill code that would activate the moment Castaway's computers got too close to their goal.

Then boom, everything they had would be fried. And it wouldn't matter if they had a backup ready, because the tech team could monitor the method of attack and then eliminate that particular vulnerability in the system. Castaway would have to start again. Pilgrim would have to trust them on the details. If Lexington were there, Lex would patiently explain everything to him in a mix of Gaelic and English until he understood. He had little choice but to trust Brooklyn's trust in Xanatos's employees.

He also had to trust Jamie to install the code without being detected. It wasn't going well.

Jamie had made several attempts that week. Pilgrim was listening, as usual, through Jamie's wire.

Attempt one: walk into the command room when no one was there and install the program. It turned out the room was _always_ occupied.

Attempt two: don't the guards ever use the bathroom? Just catch them leaving for two minutes. That's all that was needed. Jamie had been accused of lurking where he didn't belong, and there were a few seconds where Pilgrim was terrified that in Jamie's stammered excuse, they would get suspicious and search him for the wire. That didn't happen, but Pilgrim couldn't breathe easily for an hour afterward.

Attempt three: ask to see the command center. Feign curiosity and eagerness to learn the ropes. Jamie was told to go fuck himself. Accountants weren't welcome among computer nerds. He could volunteer to balance the books, if he liked.

Attempt four: befriend a member of the tech team. Jamie tried to tell them that it was useless. It turned out he was right. He couldn't get a word in edgewise, and he didn't speak Geek.

* * *

Jamie collapsed on his sofa and buried his head in his hands. Pilgrim could only surmise that Jamie was exhausted and frustrated. He made his way to the kitchen and poured a glass of Jack and Coke—he'd learned it was Jamie's favorite drink—and joined Jamie on the sofa, sitting almost close enough to touch.  
"Here," he said softly, offering the glass.

Jamie peeked at the drink between his fingers and took the glass gingerly in both hands. Even then, Pilgrim could tell that his hands were unsteady. He felt a pang of guilt, and folded both of his own hands in his lap and studied them as he listened to the clinking of ice cubes against the glass.

"What's up?" Jamie asked, finally growing unsettled by Pilgrim's gaze.

"What if I could get ye out of this spying business?"

Jamie took a swig of the drink and placed it on the side table. "What do you mean? The Quarrymen expect me to be here, or else, remember?"

"I . . . can't get ye out of the Quarrymen. If ye ever _did_ want out. But what if I could arrange it so that ye did not have to spy anymore?"

Jamie's eyes darted around Pilgrim's face, as if he were trying to read the answer to his unspoken question there. His brow crinkled. "How?"

"I will call an end to the IRC. With no organization to spy on, the Quarrymen will have to find another use for ye."

"Why the hell would you do that?" Jamie rose from the seat, too full of energy to stay still. He combed his fingers through his hair and turned his back.

Surprised, Pilgrim leaned forward. "The situation is dangerous. We cannae expect to keep fooling the Quarrymen. Ye cannae—you can't refuse to spy without the Quarrymen . . . punishing you for that. And if you continue to spy for us, eventually you will be found out, and they would kill you for that, too. The safest route for the IRC members is to quit, as well. There will be no attacks if they do not work against the Quarrymen."

"But the IRC is important. Telling them to quit . . . I mean, it'd set you back pretty far. And Maureen isn't just going to quit."

"Hm. Maureen is dedicated, but I doubt she would disobey a plea from Angela that we no longer wish IRC to operate. We could offer her something else in return. Perhaps a job with Xanatos Enterprises? And as for setting my clan back . . . at least we have befriended her inner circle. Besides, that is not as important as your safety."

Jamie just shook his head. "Why would you suddenly be worried about _my_ safety?"

Pilgrim almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself when he realized why they were talking in circles. "Ach," he gasped. "Jamie, sit down."

Reluctantly, Jamie returned to his early seat. He cast Pilgrim a wary glance. "What?"  
"I need to apologize. We're not going to hurt ye—you. Nor will we tell anyone about what is in your personal files. I would not do such a terrible thing to you."

Jamie finally relaxed his stiff posture and nodded his understanding.

"I would not do so even if you _did_ betray my clan."

Jamie turned to him. "I would never."

Pilgrim smiled. "Even so. I wish that meant you were safe with us. But this is risky. I do nae want ye to be killed."

Jamie shook his head. "But that would be letting them win."

"Sometimes it is safer to concede."

Jamie gritted his teeth. "Then I don't want to be safe. I don't want to quit the IRC, I don't want to quit spying, and I don't want to go back to them. At least now I can do some good, you know?"

Pilgrim studied the patterns of Jamie's hardwood floor. After counting several whorls in the grain, he said, "I am sorry we threatened you. We . . . I wanted you to be scared."

Jamie shrugged. "It's okay."

"Are ye scared of me?"

Jamie took a sip of his drink to stall for time. "No," he said, but then glanced at Pilgrim sheepishly. "Okay. A little."

* * *

Attempt five: the clan makes a distraction, get the command center empty. In the confusion, Jamie would get into the room and install the file.

Pilgrim would infiltrate the base with Jamie's help and let off a smoke bomb in the command center. Jamie would have a gas mask under his Quarryman hood and do his job while Pilgrim kept people's attention on him, not Jamie.

It was all going just fine until the smoke bomb didn't go off, and he hadn't brought a spare. Lex would have made him bring a spare, and there would have been a Plan B. As it was, Plan B was improvised and went something like this: run like hell.

That left Pilgrim being spotted by some guards and running for the exit. He heard Jamie trip somewhere behind him—the others cursed, so they must have been distracted or at least slowed down. A few more turns, and then he was on the roof.

Brooklyn and Broadway swooped in to attack his pursuers. He took his chance to his behind an air conditioning unit.

He was joined by Jamie a second later. The human was panting and staring at him. The familiar sounds of battle drifted over to them in their unexpected hiding spot. Jamie reached under his hood and removed the gas mask. He let it fall to the ground and smoothed the wrinkles in the hood.

It might have been an accident on the Quarrymen's part, but a small object fell between them. It was small, round, and green.

Jamie's back straightened, and Pilgrim imagined the human's eyes flying wide open beneath the hood. Pilgrim had only a second to remember what, exactly, that kind of weapon did. He grabbed Jamie by the shoulders and threw him down, and they landed in a bruised heap on the other side of the air conditioning unit as the heat from the grenade blast rushed over them.

He looked over to see what was going on in the battle. A group of Quarrymen were running away from the action, back into the building and away from the gargoyles. A figure from the group saw them and hesitated. Pilgrim realized, belatedly, that he and Jamie were not fighting as a Quarryman and gargoyle should.

Jamie pushed Pilgrim aside and rolled on top of him, pinning Pilgrim's arms to the ground. "Run! Get out of here, I'm fine!" Jamie called to the lone Quarryman, who turned and continued his retreat.

When the man rounded the corner and slipped out of sight, Pilgrim moved to get up, wanting to pursue them.

He had only sat halfway up before Jamie's lips were on his, and his breath was taken in surprise. He lay back down, Jamie following him, and he was acutely aware of the human's weight atop his hips and his own tongue slipping into Jamie's mouth, an involuntary reaction to the sudden change of events.

He was not sure how long it took him to come to his senses. They could not stay unnoticed for long, surely. Very reluctantly, he extracted himself from the kiss and gently pulled his arms from Jamie's tight grip.

With a quick movement that Jamie did not expect, Pilgrim rolled both of them to the right, far enough so that they fell several feet into a sunken rooftop garden. He made certain to cushion the back of Jamie's head as they hit the ground. At least now they were behind a hedge. Pilgrim leaned against Jamie and pinned the human's hands above his head. The battle had moved off the rooftop and into the sky.

Jamie's eyes were wide, and his breathing was erratic. Pilgrim had never been talented at reading humans' emotions, so he could not tell whether Jamie was afraid or excited, or both.

Pilgrim bent his head and kissed Jamie's soft lips briefly. "Jamie?" he whispered. "Did you kiss me so someone in that group could get away?"

"What?" Jamie's body went rigid, and he strained against Pilgrim's grip on his arms. Pilgrim did not let him up, but merely waited. "No! I swear."

"That is what it looked like, you see."

"I . . . okay. Look, before you doing anything—rash—let me explain. Please."

Pilgrim shifted his weight and pressed his left thigh against Jamie's groin. This caused Jamie's breath to hitch and some color to return to his face. "Are you admitting that you've betrayed me?" He could feel, even through his kilt and the Quarryman uniform, that Jamie had an erection. "Or do you just like the idea of my doing something—rash?"

Jamie blinked several times and watched a slight smile spread across Pilgrim's lips. After an eternity, Jamie finally stopped struggling and lay back. "Oh, my God. You're joking."

"Mm. Playing, maybe." Pilgrim nuzzled Jamie's ear, biting playfully, careful of the human's fragile skin. He hoped Jamie's moan was a positive sign. "Not joking."

"Good," Jamie said, his voice husky.

"Though we must work on your trust in me."

"I do trust you, I just—"

"Never fear. I know of one or two experiments that will require you to trust me completely."

Jamie grew very still and looked him in the eye. "Yes. We should do that."

"Perhaps in a safer place?"


	6. Trust Games

**Fandom**: Disney's Gargoyles

**Time**: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

**Special** **Notes**: Very AU with OCs. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

**Warnings**: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death. The rating is high for later chapters.

**Genre**: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

**Disclaimer**: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Trust Games**

It took every ounce of Pilgrim's willpower to pull away from Jamie so the human could stand up. The only thought that kept him from kissing Jamie again was that soon they would be in Jamie's apartment, just the two of them.

They had only gone a few steps, though, when his headset beeped to indicate an incoming message. He and Jamie both stopped in their tracks and listened to Brooklyn's instructions.

"Debriefing at Site Seven in fifteen minutes, clan and IRC should attend. Brooklyn out."

Jamie sighed. "We could just not go."

"Aye, I'm sure that would endear ye to them all the more."

Jamie didn't respond, but he followed Pilgrim obediently to a nearby helicopter piloted by one of Xanatos's men. With so many humans helping the clan, arranging transportation other than gliding had proved necessary. Pilgrim had originally opposed the helicopters because they were noisy, obvious machines, but now he was grateful that it was too loud for him and Jamie to talk.

He spent the next ten minutes thinking about what had happened, exactly. Jamie hadn't just kissed him—Jamie had _wanted_ him. This development caught him by surprise, but at least it was a pleasant one. He wasn't blind; he knew Jamie was attractive by human standards. He was muscular and lean, and he had handsome, dark eyes. But he was a human, and Pilgrim's mind didn't think about humans that way. Until, he supposed, the human caught him off guard by kissing him.

They were sitting close together, thighs occasionally touching as Jamie pulled the Quarryman uniform and bulletproof vest off to reveal his street clothes underneath. Pilgrim stole a glance to his left and saw Jamie looking back at him. Pilgrim's anxiety faded a bit when he saw the soft smile on Jamie's face. He smiled back and reappraised his feelings for the human. He didn't know what Jamie wanted, but Jamie had _very_ handsome eyes, Pilgrim decided.

So handsome that he lost track of time, and suddenly they were on the rooftop of Site Seven, an abandoned convenience store.

Inside, the meeting was already in full force.

"It should be working," Maureen was telling Brooklyn. "We all know why it's not." Her back was to the door, but everyone else could see Jamie and Pilgrim enter the room. Maureen turned around when she saw the uncomfortable looks her audience was giving them.

Jamie bit his lip and stepped forward, but Pilgrim stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "And would ye tell us, Maureen, why it's nae working? Do ye all know something I don't?"

"It's okay, come on," Jamie hissed, trying to pull away.

"Nay, I want to hear her theory."

Maureen put her hands on her hips. Her face had gone red, but she was nothing if not gutsy. "We're trusting a Quarryman to pull it off. I haven't seen any evidence that _he_"—she pointed at Jamie—"even _wants_ it to work."

Jamie tried to pull away from him again, but Pilgrim held him at the door. "Jamie is doing his best. It is my call whether to trust him, and I have made my decision. Ye should support that, or nae work with my clan at all. We do nae have anything left to say tonight. Good night."

He tugged at Jamie's sleeve until Jamie realized that Pilgrim was leaving, not staying at the meeting.  
"Pilgrim, let go," Jamie said as Pilgrim escorted him to the back door.

"Only if ye do nae go in there." As it was, he was worried that Brooklyn would rush out and order them to come back to the meeting. That didn't seem to be happening, however.

"Hell, I didn't want to go in the first place."

Pilgrim knew Jamie was right, so he reluctantly let Jamie's shoulder free.

"You made her feel bad," Jamie accused him.

"She should feel bad. She is questioning my decisions. And insulting ye."

"Can you really blame her?"

"I can if I want."

"'Cause if you're worried about endearing ourselves to her, you probably just ruined your chances for that."

Pilgrim shrugged. "I do nae care."

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence—one of the only times Pilgrim had ever felt uneasy around Jamie. Pilgrim spent the walk back to Jamie's apartment studiously looking everywhere but at Jamie. He hadn't decided what he was going to do about the kiss. It had been nice—better than anything he'd felt in a long time—but despite his defiant words at the meeting, he couldn't help but think Jamie had an ulterior motive. The sight of that Quarryman running back to rescue Jamie kept playing through his mind.

The unease lasted until they were safely back at the apartment.

Jamie poured two drinks, which had become their way to signal when one of them wanted to talk. He left one glass at the end of the bar for Pilgrim and sat on a barstool, nursing his own drink.

Pilgrim took a single sip of whiskey, then made his decision. He abandoned his glass on the counter and moved behind Jamie's stool. "Turn around," he said softly.

Jamie spun on the stool, and Pilgrim leaned forward, resting his hips between Jamie's legs. Jamie's breathing hitched, but he didn't pull away. If anything, Jamie moved closer to him.

Normally, he and Jamie were the same height, but the stool was high, and Pilgrim found himself looking up at Jamie for once. That was good, he thought; he wanted Jamie to feel dominant. Jamie put a hand behind Pilgrim's neck and leaned down to kiss him.

The kiss was gentle, far different from earlier, but it was just as electric. When he heard Jamie moan, Pilgrim tightened his grip on Jamie's hip and fought a carnal urge to pull Jamie closer. Instead he broke the kiss by turning his head down for a moment. He took a moment to catch his breath and let his heart slow down. When he looked back at Jamie, he could tell that the human was similarly affected; Jamie's face was flushed, and his eyes were unfocused.

"God, you're beautiful," Jamie whispered. The awe in Jamie's voice caught Pilgrim unprepared. No one had ever said that to him; no one had ever looked at him with such honest admiration. It had always been the other way around—he was normally the seducer, not the seduced. And that was exactly what was happening, he realized. Jamie was trying to seduce him, and it was working. The old worry about Jamie's loyalties nagged him again.

He allowed himself another brief kiss, savoring the alien taste. Jamie felt soft, almost fragile under his touch. It finally sank in that he was kissing a _human_, not a gargoyle, and he pulled back with a start.

Jamie looked scared, too, and Pilgrim wondered if Jamie was thinking the same thing about being with a gargoyle. He almost asked whether Jamie thought it was weird that he had talons, wings, and a tail, but he stopped himself because he already knew the answer. Of course Jamie thought it was weird. Jamie's hands were shaking as he reached out to touch Pilgrim's chest. Pilgrim couldn't feel the light brush of fingers through his armor, so he mustered whatever courage he had left to speak.

"Ye're shaking," he said.

Jamie licked his lips and traced the whorls of tattoos on Pilgrim's neck. The patterns were cut off by the breastplate, so Jamie's hands stopped there, too.

"Ye're afraid of me," Pilgrim tried again, looking for some kind of response.

This time, Jamie shook his head and cleared his throat. "No. Only a little."

"Ye're a bad liar." Jamie wouldn't meet his gaze. "Do you want to take my shirt off?" he asked innocently.

At the change of topic, Jamie lifted his eyebrows. "Yes. That, um, that would be good."

Pilgrim smiled. "Then tell me the truth. Are ye still scared of me?"

Jamie blinked and studied the armor, as if deciding just how much removing Pilgrim's clothing was worth it to him. "Terrified," he said after a while.

Pilgrim tried to look as non-terrifying as possible while he turned around to give Jamie access to the buckles on his back. He waited patiently while Jamie unfastened each buckle on the Kevlar breastplate. His heart was pounding by the time the last one slipped free, and he had to help Jamie pull the vest around his wings and arms. The armor fell to the floor, forgotten.

He wore a black undershirt, too, made especially for a gargoyle's body. He gasped when he felt Jamie's fingers slide under the shirt. He turned around again, facing Jamie, who reoriented himself. The shirt had a zipper in the front, which Jamie hadn't been expecting, but he made quick work of it. This time, Jamie didn't need any help navigating the shirt around Pilgrim's wings.

Pilgrim stood still while Jamie stared. He felt exposed, but that was what he'd wanted—if he made himself physically vulnerable, then hopefully Jamie would feel more comfortable around him. After an eternity of just looking, Jamie lifted his hands to Pilgrim's chest and continued tracing the tattoos, which continued down the gargoyle's chest and below his waistline. Jamie looked calmer already, if a little confused by their game. Pilgrim felt exposed, but it was worth it to have Jamie look more confident now that he felt in control.

"Why are ye scared of me?" he asked after it seemed like Jamie had decided that a shirtless Pilgrim was a change for the better.

Jamie looked back into Pilgrim's eyes. "I . . ." But he couldn't finish.

Time for his turn, then. Pilgrim leaned forward to whisper in Jamie's ear. "Do ye want to hear a secret?" He felt, rather than saw, Jamie nod. "Then let me take your shirt off," he added, reaching for the top button on Jamie's collared shirt.

"Okay," Jamie whispered.

Pilgrim pulled back to make sure Jamie truly was okay. The human was trembling, but then, so was he, and buttons were not made for gargoyle talons even in the best of circumstances. After he proved to himself he could undo the first button, he told Jamie his secret. "I'm scared of ye, too."

"You? Scared of me? Why?"

"Patience. Ye'll have to save that question for your next turn."

By the fourth button or so, Pilgrim had figured out how to maneuver the small plastic discs through the button holes, and he made quick work of the rest. When he was finally done, Pilgrim pushed the shirt back over Jamie's shoulders and down his arms. He froze when he saw Jamie's shoulder. The scar was still there—would always be there. Pilgrim felt a twist of guilt in his stomach as he brushed a talon against the jagged red mark.

"Is this why ye're afraid of me?"

"That'll cost you your belt," Jamie replied, his voice still a whisper.

Pilgrim grinned despite himself, pleased that Jamie had figured out the game and still wanted to play. "That's fair."

Jamie reached for the belt buckle. As he fumbled with the catch, Pilgrim observed that the game had become less about sex and more about trust. The sex was still there—having an attractive male tugging at his belt was sending clear signals straight to his groin—but the desperate need he'd felt just a few moments ago had subsided. They were both subdued as they tested each other's boundaries.

His belt was there to support his sword and dagger sheaths, so when the belt fell free, Jamie carefully collected the weapons and laid them on the counter behind him.

"Ye haven't answered my question," he prompted.

Jamie rested his hands on Pilgrim's hips, now free of the wide leather band. Jamie's thumb caressed Pilgrim's hip bone. "You first," he said, unable to meet Pilgrim's eyes.

Pilgrim stopped himself from arguing. It was his game, after all, and he could change the rules if Jamie wasn't ready. Jamie didn't have a belt, so Pilgrim sank to his knees. The implications of that move startled Jamie until Pilgrim started undoing the laces on Jamie's boots. He looked up to make sure Jamie was following his logic. Jamie nodded his permission.

Bootlaces were easy, but Pilgrim forced himself not to rush. He didn't want Jamie to think he was growing impatient. He slipped the socks off, too, for good measure, and stood back up.

He put his hands on Jamie's waist and touched their foreheads together. "I think ye're dangerous. I try to believe I can tell when ye're lying, but I'll never really know. Maybe ye're just a superb actor, making all of this up. Maybe I'll turn my back one day and ye'll make your move. I chose to trust ye, but that was . . . an intellectual decision. It isn't something I feel." Jamie tried to pull away, but Pilgrim stopped him with one hand behind Jamie's neck. "I'm afraid ye'll hurt my family," he finished.

There was nothing to do but wait for Jamie's reaction, which was conspicuously absent. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Jamie?" he asked.

Jamie sighed and relaxed into Pilgrim's arms. "I'm not going to hurt you. I never want to hurt you."

"I want to believe that," Pilgrim replied. "That's what I'm trying to do. Your turn."

Jamie leaned back. "I'm scared," he said at length, "of _that_, I guess." He pointed to the scar on his shoulder. "Because you did that, and you could have done a lot worse. You still could, if you wanted. And I'm scared because I don't know what you want from me, and I don't know what your clan wants here, in Manhattan. I'm scared the Quarrymen are right about you, and I'm terrified of how—how you make me feel . . ."

Jamie looked at him questioningly, as if asking if that answer was good enough. Pilgrim gave him a brave but sad smile. "And how do I make ye feel?"

"The kilt, this time."

"If ye like."

Jamie's hands were shaking as he reached around Pilgrim's waist to untie the leather straps that held his kilt up. Pilgrim wondered whether Jamie had been staring at his backside for some time, since Jamie evidently did not need to investigate how the kilt was fastened. The kilt was not like a human one—it did not close completely in the back. Instead, the two layers merely overlapped underneath his tail, so Jamie could remove it without Pilgrim needing to lift his feet.

Jamie seemed to understand that the tartan was both ancient and important to the clan because he folded the kilt reverently and laid it next to the sword, dagger, and belt. That left Pilgrim only in his black leggings, which were lightly armored with plates of Kevlar. He did his best not to feel naked and waited for Jamie to find his voice.

But instead of speaking, Jamie leaned down again to kiss him. Pilgrim wasn't sure whether it was against the rules, but suddenly he didn't care, so long as Jamie's lips were on his. He moaned and opened his mouth, letting Jamie explore with his tongue. He pulled Jamie closer, and the soft human skin felt fabulous against his own bare chest. Jamie's hands were buried in his hair, and it wasn't enough.

He lifted Jamie off the stool by his waist so that they were standing, pressed close together. Pilgrim folded his wings around Jamie and explored the human's bare back. It was strange to feel smooth skin uninterrupted by wings, so he took a moment to wonder at the feel of human shoulder blades. He realized, too, that if he let his hands drop farther he wouldn't be stopped by a tail. He tried that, slipping one hand to Jamie's lower back and tugging him closer.

When he closed the last remaining distance between them, he could feel Jamie's erection through his jeans, and that undid him. He growled and bucked his hips.

Jamie exhaled, laughing as he extracted himself from the kiss. "You just growled."

"Aye," Pilgrim breathed. "Do ye mind?"

"I like it. It's hot."

"Good."

"We've still got—" Jamie paused to nibble at Pilgrim's neck—"pants and underwear to go."

"Do ye want to ask me something else?" Taking his cue from Jamie, Pilgrim moved to bite and suck the tender skin of the human's neck, taking care not to break the delicate skin.

Jamie moaned. "Lots of things. Later. Right now I just . . . wow . . . God, keep doing that . . . I just want to get you in bed."

"Mm. Aye." Pilgrim let Jamie lead him to the bedroom, pausing to kiss several times on the way.


	7. No More Games

**A/N: **_Eventually_ I will write an NC-17 version of this chapter and post it to a different website, but for now ffnet's M rating description doesn't include graphic sex scenes. In the meantime, here is some awesome cuddling. **Thank you to my anonymous reviewer, FirstUp! **

**Previously on Gargoyles:** The IRC (the Interspecies Relations Council) is cooperating with the clan to hinder the Quarrymen's plans. Jamie is a Quarryman who was spying on the IRC, but then the clan found out and now he's a double agent spying on the Quarrymen. Pilgrim is the clan's priest, and he' sin charge of supervising the spy. Jamie and Pilgrim hooked up by playing a sexy trust game. In this chapter, Jamie and Pilgrim learn important things about each other.

** Fandom**: Disney's Gargoyles

**Time**: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

**Special** **Notes**: AU with OCs. No Gary-Stus, I promise. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

**Warnings**: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death. The rating is high for later chapters.

**Genre**: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

**Disclaimer**: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

* * *

**Chapter** **7: No More Games**

**

* * *

**

Sated, Pilgrim caressed Jamie's chest as he rested his head on the human's shoulder. Jamie's arm was underneath him and held his waist loosely to Jamie's side. Jamie had been dozing for several minutes, which Pilgrim could only assume was a common occurrence for humans after sex. It was late into the night, after all, and Jamie had given Pilgrim no indication that the experience was disappointing. Quite the contrary, actually.

Pilgrim took the opportunity to watch Jamie sleep and observe the bedroom. The bed was an interesting piece of human furniture, softer than Pilgrim had expected. The only kind of bed he had to compare it to was the occasional hospital mattress in Xanatos's clinic used when the gargoyles were injured. That bed had crinkled in an unpleasant, antiseptic way, and Doctor Sevarius had never been quite so accommodating to his guests.

Amused by his comparison, Pilgrim lazily kissed Jamie's shoulder and neck. This roused Jamie from his light slumber. The human smiled and whispered a "hello" before he bothered to open his eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you," Jamie whispered.

Pilgrim kissed Jamie's lips. In response, Jamie tightened his grip on Pilgrim's waist. "If ye're tired, ye should rest."

"Mm. Cold." The sheets were tangled at their feet, so Pilgrim pulled them up and covered both of them up to their waists.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Pilgrim lay his head on Jamie's shoulder again. They stayed like that until Pilgrim thought that his companion had fallen asleep again. Finally, though, Jamie sighed—not his previous sighs of pleasure or contentment, but a worried, heavy one. Pilgrim waited for the beautiful spell to be broken; it had to happen eventually.

"It was my father," Jamie said, his voice clinical but somehow full of regret at the same time. Pilgrim imagined that would be how a doctor would deliver terrible news to a grieving family. The words did not make sense, however, so he lifted himself onto his elbows and raised his eyebrows. "The man on the roof. It was my father. He was checking to see if I was okay." Well, that was curious information. The halting way Jamie delivered it confirmed the worst of Pilgrim's fears, and his stomach twisted into a tight knot. "He's a lieutenant. I report directly to him. I didn't—don't—want him arrested."

Pilgrim could not bring himself to respond, so he merely nodded. Family changed the equation quite a bit.

"That's it?" Jamie asked. "You've got nothing to say to that?"

"Ye've been lying," Pilgrim replied after a moment's thought. "Blood is important to us, and ye must have known that. All ye had to do when we caught ye was beg us to let ye go, lest we ask ye to betray yer kin. It would have worked—we would never have asked ye to spy under such circumstances." The Quarryman would not meet his gaze, so Pilgrim knew his surmise was correct. "Ye knew that, so ye must have wanted to be caught." Jamie did not deny it. "What have ye told them?"

Jamie closed his eyes. "Everything."

Well. So be it, then. He laid his head back on Jamie's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Jamie whispered. He tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of Pilgrim's neck. It was still a gentle, loving touch, and somehow that made it right. Pilgrim relaxed into the human's arm. Despite the terrible information they were exchanging, each continued to soften the blows with small touches, a kiss here and there, as they spoke.

"All yer failed attempts lately—all an act?" The human nodded. "And ye sounded the alarm tonight, didn't ye? They knew we were coming."Jamie shuddered and pulled him closer. "It's all right. Why are ye shaking?"

"I _had_ to, Pilgrim," Jamie hissed. "They know everything, and they know when I'm lying, and they're nothing like you. You defended me, and I . . . ."

"Ye're not such a bad liar after all," Pilgrim said, not unkindly. Jamie held his breath, as if waiting for a blow or insult. "Ye're scared. Ye do nae really believe I would hurt you?"

"Physically? No. But you could walk out the door, and that would hurt just as much."

Pilgrim smiled and wrapped his arms around his human. "I am nae going anywhere. Do ye think I would be shocked to learn that ye are a Quarryman after all? I will nae turn on ye for such a predictable thing."

"You should," Jamie insisted, though he'd relaxed. "You should turn me in to the clan. Get rid of me."

Pilgrim thought about that. He _could_ do something that would allow the Quarrymen to see that their plot had failed. If the clan no longer trusted him . . . . "What would happen to ye? What would they do if ye failed?"

Jamie trembled. "I don't know. It doesn't matter."

Pilgrim smiled weakly. "Ye are a human in my protectorate, Quarryman or no. I _have_ to protect ye."

For some reason, that simple admission horrified Jamie. The human placed his free hand over his face. "I've made a huge mistake," he muttered. "You gave me a way out! You offered me a way out, and I didn't take it."

Pilgrim remembered his offer to disband the I.R.C. "The offer still stands."

"No. No, it doesn't. They know about it. I _told_ them. They'd never believe it now."

"Ah. Well, that is a problem, then."

"I didn't trust you, I didn't believe you. I'm so sorry."

"Jamie," Pilgrim soothed him. "It's all right."

"How is it all right?"

"We'll continue as before. We have a . . . what is that chess term? For when neither side can win?"

"Stalemate."

"Aye. We are at a stalemate, and we shall keep it that way. It is safest for ye. And yer father will be safe. I will do what I can to prevent him from being arrested, for yer sake."

"Thank you. That means so much." Jamie regarded him with desperation. "Pilgrim, I need you to know something."

Pilgrim tensed. What else could there be to confess? "What?"

"They didn't tell me to . . . to do _this_." He gestured vaguely around the room. This was . . . I wanted to do this."

He couldn't help himself; Pilgrim laughed. "Aye, I believe that."

"Are you sure? Because I need you to believe me. _Really_ believe me, none of that 'I choose to trust you because I don't have a choice' crap." Jamie's words were harsh, but his tone was lighter than it had been for the entire conversation.

Pilgrim grinned. "I believe ye. I cannae believe the Quarrymen would suggest having sex with me. It is entirely unnecessary."

"Plus they'd probably burn me at the stake if they knew about it."

Pilgrim had known as much, but he felt a sudden fear for his . . . companion. He hid his uncertainty with a deep kiss. Jamie did not immediately object to the change of subject; eventually, though, he rolled Pilgrim onto his back and held him down at the wrists.

"Why don't you hate me?" Jamie asked. "I get that your clan has rules about who they have to protect, but you're the only one who actually seems to like me. Why?"

Pilgrim shrugged as well as he could without knocking Jamie over. He rather enjoyed being pinned to the mattress. The question was a fair one, however, and Jamie deserved an answer. "Because I do not like humans," he said carefully.

Jamie let go and sat straddling Pilgrim's hips. "Huh?"

"Everything bad that has ever happened to me was because of humans," he said. He watched as Jamie's expression changed from puzzled to sober. "They killed dozens of my kinsmen. They killed my . . . my mate. The one person I loved more than my own life. It was a human who cursed me, and when I woke up, I was in a world where humans had weapons and machines that made them seem like gods, and I now I am more afraid of them than I'd ever been in Scotland."

"But you're . . . you make all these high-and-mighty speeches about how gargoyles are supposed to value the lives of humans over their own hatchlings' lives because that's the natural order of things, and now you're telling me that you're secretly a . . . racist? Speciesist? Asshole?"

Pilgrim grinned despite himself. Only Jamie could make him smile at a time like this. "Don't tell anyone. It's a secret. Being reasonable and high-minded is just my job."

"So you're trying to say you like me because you understand me? Because we're both terrible people?" Jamie was on the defensive.

Pilgrim reached for Jamie's hand. "I am saying that my kinsmen genuinely like humans and make exceptions for the ones who try to hurt them. But I make exceptions for the humans I find I do like. Like you—I like you and Elisa and Matt, but I do nae trust anyone else. I think that is what you do, too."

"So we're really going to have this conversation?"

"Aye. Yes."

"Fine. I don't like gargoyles. Your clan scares the hell out of me."

"And me?"

Jamie swallowed. "I think you're perfect."

Pilgrim's heart fluttered. "I know I do not understand you. But I understand myself, and I can see some of the same thoughts in you, and I respect that knowledge enough to realize that there's more to either of us than one emotion."

"What emotion? Hate?"

"Fear. Most hate is really fear."

Jamie climbed off Pilgrim and returned to lay at his side. "Yeah, I guess it is. You're a smart man," he said in Pilgrim's ear.

"Nay," Pilgrim replied. "Goliath taught me that." His voice quivered, not just because Jamie had resumed nibbling on his neck.

"I wish I could have met him."

"He would have liked you."

"You think?"

"Aye. He was very wise."

Pilgrim tugged on the hair at the base of Jamie's neck and kissed him thoroughly. The human moaned and reluctantly pulled away.

"Pilgrim?"

"Hm?"

"What the hell are we doing?"

"Kissing."

"Is this going to be a regular thing?"

Pilgrim smirked. "It had better be." Jamie looked worried, though, so he added, "Why? Would ye prefer that it not?"

"No, I, I mean, I do want to. We should definitely . . . I just . . . ." Jamie was blushing, and Pilgrim thought it was adorable.

"Jamie." Pilgrim tightened his grip on the human's hair. "Focus." Normally he found Jamie's stumbling over his words adorable, but he needed to understand what was going on with the human. "What is wrong?"

"Sorry. What are we going to tell them?"

"Ye mean my clan? And the I.R.C.?"

"Yeah."

Pilgrim thought about it. Technically, they needed approval from Brooklyn for any relationships outside of the clan. If this _was _a relationship, anyway. He did not want to lie to his clan, even by omission, but Jamie's sexuality was a secret from everyone, including the I.R.C. Pilgrim didn't understand that, but as Jamie had said, humans could be weird about sex. "I want it to be your decision."

Jamie regarded him for a few moments, during which Pilgrim debated whether he had ever seen eyes as beautiful as Jamie's. By the time he'd decided that no, he hadn't, Jamie leaned down and kissed him briefly on the lips. "Are you sure?"

"Aye. I want to tell my clan, but I will wait if you prefer it."

Jamie nodded, looking relieved. "I don't want to tell them anything. Not yet. I'm not . . . I don't think I'm ready for that. They don't trust me as it is. And . . . I just . . . need to process."

Pilgrim nodded. "I understand."

"Thanks. Again."

"I do have to go, though."

Jamie pouted. "Why?"

"It will be dawn soon."

Jamie glanced at the digital clock and groaned. "Damn."

Although it was the last thing he wanted to do in the world, Pilgrim gently nudged Jamie to the side and climbed out of the bed. He gathered his pants from the floor and his armor and kilt from the living room while Jamie did the same. They dressed in a comfortable silence.

When he paused before the window, he pulled Jamie to him gently and folded his wings around the human. They exchanged one more kiss before whispering "good morning," and soon Pilgrim was in the air heading back toward the castle.

The flight was brief, but the chilly pre-dawn air reminded him of the night's battle and the argument he'd had with Maureen. He scowled when he realized that Brooklyn would probably be waiting for him to come home so they could talk about his outburst. He almost regretted telling Jamie that he would not reveal their . . . whatever it was they had . . . to Brooklyn. He was pretty sure that their deal also included, by tacit agreement, Jamie's revelation that he had been sabotaging the clan's schemes and that his father was one of the Quarrymen. As a priest, Pilgrim was used to keeping secrets, but he'd never before kept the secrets of someone who was not a kinsman. But he had no desire to give his clan more reasons to distrust Jamie; he would simply have to stick to his story that Jamie was trying his best.

Sadly, his prediction proved correct. Brooklyn was perched on their customary balcony; the rest of the clan had moved one terrace over, presumably so that he and Brooklyn could have a private conversation that Pilgrim could not tactfully avoid.

Talking to a fully adult Brooklyn still struck Pilgrim as otherworldly. Pilgrim had grown used to being slightly older than the trio. In fact, their age difference was one reason that Pilgrim had waited so long before making a move for Lexington's affection. The trio had aged out of adolescence during their time in Manhattan, but now Brooklyn was older than Pilgrim was.

Pilgrim blamed the Phoenix Gate for most of his troubles, and he cursed it again now. This older, more mature Brooklyn was more comfortable being in command, and he was more willing to question Pilgrim's behavior. He crossed his arms as Pilgrim alighted on the balcony.

"Good evening, brother," Pilgrim greeted him in Scots Gaelic.

"Hi," Brooklyn replied in English. Pilgrim sighed. Brooklyn was hopelessly humanized in his manners. Pilgrim still liked to use the traditional kinship terms, at least when the clan was among themselves. The custom was for priests to address others as and be addressed as 'brother,' regardless of whether they were in the same rookery or not. Brooklyn, though, did not always return the custom. "Listen, Pilgrim, we've got to talk."

"About Jamie," he stated, hoping to make this conversation go as quickly as possible.

"Well, yeah. About Maureen, too. Broadway and Angela told me what happened at the meeting."

"I am sorry I was rude to her, brother, but she was accusing Jamie of sabotage unjustly."

"Yeah. I know. Pilgrim—brother, sorry—you seem to like that Quarryman a lot."

Pilgrim considered his answer very carefully. Could Brooklyn know? Had someone seen them? "Aye," he said, deciding to give nothing away. But nothing seemed off about Brooklyn's manner.

"That's good. I just want you to know that I trust your judgment. I'm on your side in this."

"Ye are?" Pilgrim had not been expecting that.

"He seems shady to me, I gotta admit, but I you're careful and a good judge of character. Besides, it's not Jamie I'm worried about, it's Maureen."

"I'm sorry, Maureen?"

"You and Maureen, anyway. I think Angela and Broadway should stop attending our meetings with them, and you should start going alone. You're supposed to be the one in charge of introducing them to our culture, and you're letting Angela and Broadway do that instead."

Pilgrim folded his wings and arms defensively. "The humans find them less intimidating. Maureen acts like she hates me and the others are afraid of me."

"I've noticed. So has Angela, to be honest. They like Angela and Broadway because they're good at mimicking human customs and manners, and they also didn't watch them hold a guy at knife-point. Which is totally not your fault, by the way. But they're not getting used to our culture or customs because neither Broadway or Angela ever press the matter. I need them to get to know _you_ because they need to learn about what we're really like. Also, it's just not a good idea for them to be afraid of anyone. They need to be comfortable with all of us."

"I go to their meetings already."

"And hang in the back and talk to Jamie all the time."

"Jamie is my responsibility."

"Well, you can look after him without ignoring Maureen. Or I guess we can have someone else supervise him . . . ."

"Nay!" Pilgrim spoke too quickly and loudly; Brooklyn raised an eyebrow ridge. "I mean, nay, brother. I will do both."

"You're sure? I didn't mean to stick you with spy duty, it just seemed like you worked well with him. Maybe he could benefit from being with other gargoyles, too. Angela said he seems afraid of her and Broadway, and every time I've seen him he looks scared too. I'd like him to get used to us."

"Nay, it's fine. Jamie and I are . . . friends. He trusts me. If ye want him to meet others, I will arrange that. But I would very much like to work with him."

"Okay. That sounds good to me. How about I go with you to the next meeting? We can talk to them about how they can be more polite to you. Why that's important. That sort of thing."

"If you wish, brother."

"Awesome."

Pilgrim's last thought before facing the horizon was that he was pleasantly surprised at how skilled a leader Brooklyn had become.

* * *

**to be continued!**


	8. Boundaries

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay. I have a job now! Jobs are nice because they mean I can pay my rent with non-borrowed money. Sadly, I was distracted by it for a while. And also by Dragon Age II because Fenris is yummy. Don't judge. Also, thank you to my anonymous reviewer **Kitty**!

**Previously on Gargoyles:** The IRC (the Interspecies Relations Council) is cooperating with the clan to hinder the Quarrymen's plans. Jamie is a Quarryman who was spying on the IRC, but then the clan found out and now he's a double agent spying on the Quarrymen. Pilgrim is the clan's priest, and he's in charge of supervising the spy. Jamie and Pilgrim hooked up by playing a sexy trust game. In this chapter, Pilgrim and Maureen, the leader of the IRC, try to come to an understanding, and we find out what Lex has been doing all this time. Also, there is Brooklyn.

** Fandom**: Disney's Gargoyles

**Time**: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

**Special** **Notes**: AU with OCs. No Gary-Stus, I promise. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

**Warnings**: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death in Chapter 2. The rating is high for later chapters.

**Genre**: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

**Disclaimer**: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

8. Boundaries

In which Lexington's POV is seen – he's not very happy in Detroit and calls home but doesn't talk to Pilgrim; In which Brooklyn and Pilgrim confront the IRC about their anti-Pilgrim-ness; we see Pilgrim and Jamie go to great lengths not to define their relationship.

Pilgrim never spent a lot of time with Brooklyn, either before or after Brooklyn's mishap with the Phoenix Gate. Brooklyn had spent his pre-Phoenix Gate years either oblivious to Lexington's crush on him or purposefully ignoring his rookery brother's feelings. For his part, Pilgrim had deliberately distanced himself from Brooklyn after Pilgrim and Lexington had become lovers.

After Brooklyn returned from his time-dancing, wife and kids in tow, it had become much worse. Lexington's resentment rose to the surface, and it was harder for anyone to pretend not to know why Pilgrim did not enjoy Brooklyn's company.

That's why it was so awkward being at the I.R.C. meeting together. Pilgrim and Brooklyn had arrived early to discuss their plan, which had seemed like a good idea until they finished that conversation and realized there were ten minutes left until the first human would arrive.

Pilgrim seriously considered passing the time in sullen silence, awkwardness be damned.

Brooklyn was more socially sensitive, though, and after a mere thirty seconds of dead air he cleared his throat. "So, uh, have you talked to Lex at all?"

The question irritated him. Was he so disengaged from his clan that they thought he would not give them news if he had any? "Nay," he replied.

"Are you worried about him?"

Pilgrim nodded. There was no point in lying. The worry had been a knot in his gut for many weeks now.

"I am, too. I left him a lot of messages, early on, but he didn't call or write back. He hasn't returned anyone's calls."

It was obvious where Brooklyn was going with this train of thought, but Pilgrim did not feel like helping him out.

"Have _you_ called him?" Brooklyn asked after a few beats.

"Nay. And I do nae intend to."

"You're that mad at him?"

Pilgrim forced himself to hold his tongue. He wanted to tell Brooklyn that it was none of his business, but as clan leader Brooklyn had every right to ask him that. "Nay, brother. But Lexington would nae want to speak with me. If he wants to talk to us, he will call."

"But what if he's being kept against his will? What if Xanatos is feeding us a line of crap about how happy and well-adjusted he is? What if—"

"Brother, please." Pilgrim held up his hand to stop the barrage of hypotheticals. "Lexington is more than capable of taking care of himself. And if ye're so worried, have Xanatos fly ye to Detroit on his jet, to see for yerself."

Brooklyn paced the floor. "I know, I know. Lex is tough, and he's probably fine. And I can't just hop on a plane and go see him because he'll hate that, and he'll just stay away longer because of it."

"I'm glad ye see that. That is part of why I have nae called him. I fear it will only keep him away."

"Still, just one call from you. Just tell him we're worried and want to hear from him. It's all I ask."

Pilgrim frowned. A voicemail, he could do. But what if Lexington actually answered the phone? "I will text him," he countered.

Brooklyn paused. "Okay. But do it now."  
"Now?" Pilgrim hesitantly felt for his phone in his pouch. Recently he had been using only the simple machines used for communicating with the I.R.C.—specifically, for talking to Jamie. His more complicated smartphone designed for clan business had gone mostly untouched. "Nay, later. "

"Chicken."

Pilgrim smirked. At least Brooklyn hadn't lost his sense of humor over the years. "Nay, I will be too worried during this meeting if I send him a message now. What if he responds?"

Brooklyn conceded the point. "Yeah, okay. I'd probably stop midsentence just to read it."

"See?"

"Later tonight, then. And if he does write to you . . . can you tell him . . . I don't know what I want to say to him. Can you just tell him I'm sorry?"

Pilgrim wondered what, exactly, Brooklyn was apologizing for. But if there was anything he didn't want to talk about, it was Brooklyn's feelings (or lack thereof?) for Lexington. "Aye," he simply replied.

By that time, a few I.R.C. members were in the hallway, talking amongst themselves. They trickled in as they normally would until all twelve expected attendees were there. Jamie wandered in by himself; Pilgrim spoke briefly to him. It was the first time they had not arrived together in a while—Pilgrim had told him the night before what Brooklyn planned to do, and they had arranged for separate transportation to the meeting site. Jamie chose a seat off to the side but in the front row, as near to Pilgrim as he could get without rearranging the furniture.

Maureen arrived with the last group. She looked mildly surprised to see only Brooklyn and Pilgrim there, but it was not uncommon for Angela and Broadway to be late.

"Good evening!" she greeted, her arm hooked around her husband's, who nodded. "How are you two today?"

"Good," Brooklyn responded. Pilgrim nodded to show that he was similarly well.

"Are Angela and Broadway on their way?" she asked.

"Actually, they're not coming."

Brooklyn's sober tone visibly worried the woman. "Are they okay?"

Brooklyn waved away her concern. "Yeah, they're fine. Just on patrol. We're gonna be changing some protocol in the next few weeks, though, so that's what I'm here to talk about."

That got the group's attention, and they waited patiently for Brooklyn to continue.

"I'm glad that you've been getting along with Angela and Broadway. They feel honored to have worked with you. But we've been short-staffed lately, and I'd like to put them on regular patrol. So Pilgrim is going to be taking over the meetings from now on. I'll stop by occasionally to see how things are going, but honestly, this was meant to be Pilgrim's job from the beginning."

To their credit, most of the humans smiled politely. Jamie was openly surprised; Pilgrim had not discussed the new development with him.

Maureen merely blinked and kept a straight face. "Of course, Brooklyn," she said, and her tone was surprisingly pleasant. Then again, Pilgrim knew, she liked Brooklyn. It was hard not to. "We don't want to stretch the clan thin just for us. We understand."

"Thanks, Maureen. Besides, it'll give you a chance to get to know Pilgrim better. He's about as traditional as we get. Think of it as a learning experience. Pilgrim, Jamie, I'll leave you to it."

Pilgrim turned to the group after Brooklyn left. "I thank ye for understanding."

Maureen's husband smiled at him. "Of course! Anything to help the clan. I still owe Broadway three orders of Chinese food, though."

Pilgrim seized the lifeline, no matter how meager it was. "Aye, well, I'm sure he'll be around to collect. He knows where ye live, after all. Continue as ye were. Besides, these are yer meetings, not ours. I am happy to observe. Maureen?"

Maureen's smile was tight, but she gave a brief overview of six new members recruited in the last week. Pilgrim took their names and addresses so that they could be added to the list of humans who needed special protection. He tried to imagine what it would be like if Lexington were there instead of his sending the information to Xanatos. That thought made him nervous about contacting Lex, though, so he pushed it aside.

Usually the meetings would end with people talking to the gargoyles in attendance. That was why people came, after all. The group had grown larger; not everyone was invited to every meeting in order to keep the group as low-profile as possible. The questions rarely were repeated; Maureen had organized a newsletter, of all things, that she published to the members discreetly. Pilgrim had read them; they had only listed his name and function within the clan.

This time, there were a couple new faces who had never seen Pilgrim before at all, much less seen him holding a knife to Jamie's throat.

A woman asked him about himself. It was the first time anyone had asked such a general question of him. "What would ye like to know?"

"Gosh, everything. Tell us about your religion. Being a priest. Whatever you like."

"I think the better translation is shaman, or druid, than priest," he started. The new humans seemed fascinated, and the others were at least listening. He leaned his elbows on the table. "There are not many per clan. An elder served the function and took me as an apprentice to succeed her. After, there was only me, and I took her place. I am much younger than I was meant to be when I served. The elder should have had much longer to live."

The humans looked considerably more serious now. "What about your religion? What do you believe in?"

And so it went. Pilgrim was surprised to see most of the humans treating him more sympathetically after learning about him. Perhaps all they needed was to hear him talk in a less threatening setting. Even when he described his role in the Viking siege, it was in the context of following Goliath's orders.

They were patient when his English failed him, though Jamie stepped in to help him out. Pilgrim reflected later that Jamie knew him well enough to supply words he intended.

At his request, Maureen stayed behind after the meeting. "We did not remove Angela and Broadway simply to have extra kinsmen on patrol," he said.

She did not look surprised. She also did not look as friendly now that she did not have newcomers to impress. "Is there something going on?" She glared at Jamie, who glared back.

"Nay. Jamie, could you give us a moment alone?"

His human looked put out but obeyed.

"Ye do nae like me, Maureen. Brooklyn thinks the situation will be fixed if ye spend more time with me. I need to know if it is already beyond repair."

Maureen flushed and looked away. "It's not that I don't like you."

"It seems that way."

"I'm sorry."

"I do nae blame ye for it. But I am the clan's culture. Angela and Broadway, and even Brooklyn, have adapted to human customs. I have not, partly on purpose. It is my duty to see that we do not lose what little we left of our ways. If there is something about me ye dislike, I need to know if it is personal or simply because I am different from the others. We want the I.R.C. to understand our ways, not just tolerate those who have the talent to set ye at ease."

"No, Pilgrim, that's not it." Maureen looked aghast. "I swear."

"So it is personal, then?"

"Yes. No. God, are you always this direct?"

"I try to be. Forgive me. English is hard enough for me without learning to say what I do nae mean."

"You have trouble with it?"

"It is my fifth language. The others have learned only English and Scots Gaelic. I think I am at my limit, and I was older than they were when we came to Manhattan."

"Why so many?"

"I am not from Clan Wyvern originally. I came from another, and travelled to different groups, before joining them."

Something shifted in Maureen's appraisal of him. The judgmental glint in her eyes that she normally reserved for rants about the Quarrymen softened. She leaned against the desk.

"So what is it then?" he prompted.

"Jamie," she spat. "Do you have to be so friendly with him?"

Pilgrim lowered his eyes. If she only knew the extent of it. "It is not that I threatened him, then?"

"What?"

"I worry that I frightened ye."

"Oh. I guess so, at first. I wasn't expecting that. But I get it now." Maureen pushed her long hair behind her hear. "Pilgrim, one day you were on our side, and the next you're spending all your free time with the filthy traitor who planted bombs in our meeting house. After one conversation with the guy you started defending him at every turn. And Brooklyn and Broadway and Angela all just took you at your word that he was okay. And whenever I question your judgment, you glare or snap at me."

Pilgrim took a moment to reflect on that. She felt betrayed. It had not occurred to him that Maureen wanted him to be on her side. He chose his words carefully. "I am sorry, Maureen. My clan trusts my judgment in such matters. I never earned that trust from ye, and I should have taken the time to."

She uncrossed her arms. Pilgrim took it as a sign that she'd been mollified, just a bit.

"I trust Jamie." He hesitated. He knew he should not trust the man; he answered Maureen's argument before she voiced it. "I know he is a Quarryman. I know what that entails. But he is more than the group he belongs to."

"What could he possibly have said to make you think that?"

"He told me in confidence, and I cannae repeat it. But I have felt betrayal, too, Maureen. And I have seen the tragedy that comes from giving an undeserving person a second chance."

"So why Jamie?"

"Weren't ye friends with him once?"

"I thought I was! Apparently everything was a lie."

"But ye saw something in him."

Maureen looked at the gargoyle like she'd never seen him before. "He seemed like he was searching for something. And he made me think I could help him find it."

That was an apt way of putting it, Pilgrim thought. "Jamie is in trouble. No matter what choice he makes there is danger for him. I cannae help but respond to that. I know he may turn on us—do not think I am so blinded by friendship not to see that. I am sorry he has hurt you. I do not ask ye to forgive him, or even to trust him. But I beg ye, please respect my decision. At least pretend to in front of the others. They listen to ye, and yer opinion of me affects theirs."

Maureen looked him in the eye for an uncomfortable length of time. "I don't agree with you. I think you're making a mistake, and I want to be rid of Jamie for good. But I'll back off. Deal?"

Pilgrim took a deep breath. It was as good as he would get. They shook hands, and Maureen gathered her purse and left.

Jamie was leaning in the hallway outside, and Pilgrim could tell from the cross expression on his face that he'd heard every word. Maureen passed him without comment.

^^V^^

Lexington yawned as he strolled into his quarters from the courtyard. He tried to be excited about the upcoming night shift, but at the moment he found it difficult. He'd just come from an evening "breakfast" with the staff—his friends, he supposed.

On the one hand, he was happy to be the most popular person at Lab 738. The scientists were friendly and curious about him in a non-threatening, non-I'd-like-to-dissect-you kind of way. For once he was among people who were as intelligent as he was, and their wealth of knowledge meant no air in the conversation.

On the other hand, he hadn't been outside for a month. True, every day he slept in an open-air courtyard in the middle of the complex that technically counted as being outside, but he hadn't glided through the air or scaled a building during that time. Both he and the lab director had decided that Detroit did not need a gargoyle scare like the one that had happened in Manhattan, so he stayed out of sight whenever possible.

He was not a prisoner; he could leave from his courtyard whenever he liked. Last month, he had glided high above the city, but it was not the same. He didn't have a protectorate here—he still considered that to be Manhattan, and so he didn't have nightly patrols to run. The one restriction Xanatos Enterprises put on his presence there was the "no heroics" rule. No stopping muggings, no foiling burglaries, no breaking up gang fights.

In principle, Lexington was okay with that, but he missed fighting. He had been at war with someone or something ever since he could remember, and shaking the habit was hard. He'd mentioned the problem to one of his colleagues, but she'd dismissed his concerns. "You'll get used to it," she promised. "Besides, think of working here as waging war against paralysis." In general, the idealistic scientists thought their work was more important than punching bad guys. And Lexington supposed they were right; instead of using or developing weapons and defense systems, like he'd been doing with his clan, he was helping a cybernetics team develop ways for paralyzed people to move again. The lab was especially proud of its cyborg tortoises.

He consoled himself by thinking that Xanatos Enterprises would incorporate their findings into weapons research. Idly he wondered whether he could transfer to a weapons-related cybernetics project after his work at 738 was complete. Then at least he would be working in his accustomed industry. He doubted even that would satisfy his occasional desire to punch someone, however.

Going back was not an option. He did not want to see Brooklyn or Pilgrim again for a good, long while. He especially did not want to glide over Manhattan and see the spot where Goliath had died. Still, he missed his clan. He missed having a family.

There was a voicemail on his phone. He usually kept his cell in his room. No one had the number except Xanatos, his coworkers, and his clan. Whenever Xanatos or one of his coworkers wanted to reach him, they could use the landlines at the lab. He hadn't received a call or text from any of his clan for several weeks now. At first, he'd gotten many calls from Brooklyn, Angela, and Broadway, and once even from Brooklyn's mate, Katana, and twelve from the twins. He deleted all the messages without listening to them, and the calls had stopped eventually.

But now there was a voicemail from Angela. He was already in a nostalgic mood, so he decided to listen to it. Hearing her gentle voice again after so long brought a lump to his throat. The message was simple: "Hello, Lexington. This is Angela. Xanatos assures us you are well, but I would like to speak with you myself, just to make sure. Please call. I am on patrol for the next two hours."

Lexington checked the time stamp on the voicemail. She had called only twenty minutes ago. Of all his kinsmen, talking to Angela would probably be the least confrontational. Brooklyn and Pilgrim were out of the question; Broadway would try to convince him to come back; Hudson would make him feel guilty for not coming back; Katana would be awkward; Brooklyn's children—Nash and Tachi—would tempt him to come back. Angela was the honest, straightforward type, and she would respect his choice.

He called her. He was hoping that it would go to voicemail and he could get credit for trying when she answered on the third ring. "Lexington?" Her voice was hopeful.

"H-hi, Angela."

"Oh, I am glad you called! To hear your voice . . . thank you. Thank you for calling me. Are you well?"

He smiled, surprised by the tears in his eyes and Angela's joyful response. "I'm fine."

"You're sure? Are they treating you like they should?"  
"Yeah. Everyone here is really nice, and I really like the work."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"So you're on patrol?"

"Yes. Until tonight Broadway and I have been working with the I.R.C., but . . . well, now we are on patrol."

"Wait, the I.R.C.?"

"You mean Xanatos didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Brooklyn decided to work with them directly. To protect them. We have been having more trouble with the Quarrymen than usual."

"Oh." That's another reason he hadn't called, Lexington admitted to himself. He couldn't take the guilt. He'd left them a man down, and everyone knew it. "How bad is it?"

"We have it under control. We could use you, though. We've had to hire more humans to run the machines and computer system."

"I'm glad you hired people. So, um, these I.R.C. meetings . . . ."

"Pilgrim is there now, if that's what you want to know."

Lexington cringed. No, he'd wanted to know about Brooklyn. But he wasn't allowed to ask about him; he was supposed to be concerned about his former lover. "How is he?"

He could hear Angela hesitate. "Well, he is about the same."

Some of his guilt turned to resentment. "Oh. That's good."

"I'm sure he misses you terribly. You know he keeps to himself. You're the only one he ever told anything personal." Lexington couldn't decide what to think of that. He was weighing the pros and cons of asking about Brooklyn when Angela interrupted his thoughts. "Broadway is here with me. He wants to talk to you. Is that all right?"

Lexington bit his lip. He just wanted Angela, not his rookery brother. But what could he say? "Sure, that's okay."

He heard some shuffling as the phone changed hands. "Lex!"

"Hi, brother," he said.

"Lex, on my God, are you okay? You haven't called! We were so worried!"

"I'm okay."

"You didn't return any of my calls," Broadway added, sounding forlorn. "I told you I didn't believe Xanatos when he said you were being treated okay. Why didn't you just text us?"

Lexington suddenly felt sheepish. "Um, I'm really sorry, Broadway. I didn't listen to any of the messages you guys left me. I deleted them. Except for Angela's, tonight."

"Not cool, Lex. I don't care what happened between you and Pilgrim, or you and Brooklyn, or whatever. I didn't have anything to do with that."

Before he could answer, he heard Angela's voice in the background: "Broadway, love, we talked about this. Please don't attack him."

Lexington spoke before Broadway could have a chance to respond to Angela. "I know you didn't. I just needed some time to myself, and I'm sorry I made you worry."

Broadway grunted. Lexington wasn't sure whether it was the assenting kind of grunt or a dissatisfied one, so he remained silent. Angela said something else that he couldn't quite make out. After a moment Broadway continued, "I guess so. So you're talking to us now?"

"Um." Lexington thought about whether he would call them back. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Does that mean you've had enough time to yourself?"

He sighed. "I'm not coming back, Broadway. Not yet, anyway."

"But we miss you. Don't you miss _us_? At all?"

"Yeah. I do. Of course I miss you guys. But I have work to do here. And friends. And . . . it's just too hard for me right now, okay?"

"But why?"

Lexington didn't get a chance to explain, which was good because he didn't have anything he could say. He heard an argument and Angela's voice was back on the line. "I'm sorry, Lexington. I told him to behave."

"It's okay. Thanks."

"Just know that when you're ready to come back, you'll be welcome here."

"Okay."

"Now tell me all about what you're doing there."

Lexington smiled. "It's so amazing, Angela! Dr. Ginsburg is the director of the lab, and he has this theory about how the human nervous system works . . . ."

He settled into his desk chair and chatted with his sister for much longer than he expected. He was nearly half an hour late to his shift, but he felt happier than he had since long before he had left Manhattan.

^^V^^

"What the hell was that about?" Jamie had re-entered the meeting room after Maureen had left. They were still there, at a loss for what to do now.

Pilgrim just shook his head and glared at his phone.

"Are you okay? You look shell-shocked. I know Maureen was a bitch, but she wasn't that bad, was she?"

"I am just exhausted."

"You told me gargoyles don't get tired."

"Not physically. But sparring with Maureen makes me wish dawn would come sooner."

"Trust me, I get it. But really, what was that about?"

Pilgrim sighed. "Brooklyn is disappointed in my leadership. He says Maureen does nae respect me, so I need to fix that."

Jamie rolled his eyes and flopped down on the sofa. "Maureen's got a stick up her ass."

Pilgrim puzzled over what he hoped was just an expression as he turned his phone over in his hands. He'd told Brooklyn that he would text Lexington after the meeting.

"Expecting a call?"

"Hm? Nay. I . . . ."

Jamie placed his hands on Pilgrim's to stop the nervous fussing. He didn't press for an answer, though, which made Pilgrim want to explain it, all of it.

Instead he shrugged. "Brooklyn wants me to contact Lexington to see if he is all right."

"Is there a chance he isn't? I thought Xanatos said he was fine."

"Brooklyn does nae trust Xanatos, and for good reason. Goliath trusted him, and we need him, but no one has spoken to Lexington since he left."

"You haven't tried to call him?"

"I haven't. The others have, and there is still no answer."

"So give him a call. What could it hurt?"

Pilgrim didn't know how to answer that.

"Come on, I know you want him to come back. You said it yourself: he doesn't belong anywhere but with you."

That wasn't exactly what he had said or meant, but Jamie had no way of knowing how that sounded in context. Pilgrim broke eye contact guiltily. "He belongs with his clan. But I think calling him will make it worse."

"Every one else has called him, though. Why would yours make a difference?"

"Lexington and I parted on bad terms. Brooklyn blames me for letting him go."

Jamie leaned back. "The more I hear about Brooklyn, the less I like him."

"Nay. Ye're not seeing him at his best. Ye're not seeing any of us at our best."

"I see you just fine."

No, you don't, Pilgrim wanted to say, but held his tongue.

"Call him."

"We settled on a text."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Text him, then."

Pilgrim stared at the blank screen. What could he possibly say? I'm sorry I dumped you and that you feel responsible for what happened to Goliath, but I'd like to know whether you're being dissected in a laboratory somewhere?

"I would start with 'Hi,'" Jamie prodded.

Pilgrim smiled. Jamie's hands were now resting on his wrists, as if both their strength was needed to send a simple message. His heart contracted just for a second. He avoided looking into Jamie's eyes; he knew the warmth and beauty he would find there would distract him. He suddenly realized, as well, that he couldn't write a message about how he was sorry he dumped Lex with Jamie sitting right there, not knowing anything about their relationship. And now was not the time for that conversation. It could quickly turn into a conversation about his and Jamie's relationship, and he didn't feel up for that.

He had to write something, though.

_Hello, brother. _

A very platonic greeting, especially for human sensibilities. It was an honorific title, though, and it sounded far too formal. He erased the second word.

_Hello. We are worried. _

No.

_I am worried. Please let me know that you are all right. We have not heard from you for so long, Lex. I won't pressure you to come home, I promise. But please contact me, or anyone, so that we know you are well. _

"How does that sound?"

"Honest," Jamie said. "It's good."

Pilgrim hovered over the send button for a moment, and then the phone rang. He and Jamie both broke apart. They laughed sheepishly when they realized Pilgrim was getting a call from Angela.

"Probably wants to know how the meeting from hell went," Jamie guessed.

Pilgrim held the phone to his hear. "Sister, hello."

"Brother! You're not going to believe it!"

"Believe what?"

"Guess who just called me?"

Figures, he thought, an unexpected jolt of jealously hitting him.

"Lexington!" Angela continued. "We talked for a long time, maybe thirty minutes."

"He called you?" Even he could hear how bereft he sounded, as if the wind had died under his wings. From the look in Jamie's eyes, Pilgrim could tell that Jamie knew what had happened. Perhaps he could hear Angela, too; he was sitting very close.

"He sounded so lonely at first, and I was worried for him. But after a few minutes I asked him how things were going at his lab, and he started talking about it. I did not understand everything he said, but he sounded excited."

"He's happy, then?"

"Yes. So it seems. I think he misses us. Oh, brother, I cannot imagine how you feel about that. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"Nay. I am glad to hear he is happy. He has nae been content in a long time."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

Jamie had his arm around Pilgrim's shoulders. "Aye," Pilgrim replied, feeling stronger. "Thank you, sister."

The soft beep ending the call felt very final. He erased the text message.

"You can still write to him," Jamie protested.

"Nay. I did nae want to in the first place. Now there is no need."

"Want to go back to my place?"

Pilgrim felt the caress at his waist and knew the promise behind the words. He felt the guilt and jealousy anew. He stood abruptly. "Nay." Before he could see the hurt in Jamie's eyes—or perhaps the lack of hurt, which could be worse—he continued, "I'm sorry. I need to be alone."

He wanted to glide over the city as high as he safely could and look down on the glittering island. His problems always seemed insignificant then.

Jamie looked like he either wanted to comfort him or yell at him, but the human finally conquered whatever inner war he was waging. "Tomorrow night, then?"

"Aye, Jamie. Tomorrow."

Jamie didn't kiss him goodbye. Pilgrim left through the window.

^^V^^

To be continued! Comments are respectfully requested.


	9. First Signs of a Dastardly Plan

**Author's Note:** Once every couple of months sounds like the most feasible update schedule to me. I'm working on several stories at once, including one that won't be posted until it's mostly finished. If you review and beg me for more, however, I tend to work faster.

**Previously on Gargoyles:** The IRC (the Interspecies Relations Council) is cooperating with the clan to hinder the Quarrymen's plans. Jamie is a Quarryman who was spying on the IRC, but then the clan found out and now he's a double agent spying on the Quarrymen. Pilgrim is the clan's priest, and he's in charge of supervising the spy. Jamie and Pilgrim hooked up by playing a sexy trust game. In this chapter, Pilgrim finally works up the nerve to call Lexington, his former lover who's actually in love with Brooklyn. Jamie delivers some disturbing news about the Quarrymen.

** Fandom**: Disney's Gargoyles

**Time**: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

**Special** **Notes**: AU with OCs. Not Gary-Stus, just people who I think would make a good story. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

**Warnings**: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death in Chapter 2. The rating is high for later chapters.

**Genre**: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

**Disclaimer**: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

* * *

**9. First Signs of a Dastardly Plan**

* * *

The next night Jamie's text read, _There's trouble. Call a meeting_.

Pilgrim told Brooklyn, who gave him permission to call the I.R.C. It was the first unplanned, emergency meeting since the clan had joined forces with their human supporters. Maureen, although still unhappy about working with Jamie and Pilgrim, for her part listened with respect. The others followed her lead. There were not many people there, just the several people who were in it from the beginning. Maureen's inner circle.

Jamie faced the group and told them the news. "I was at a rally today." Which was news to Pilgrim. Jamie looked at him apologetically. "It wasn't scheduled. I got the call at five in the morning. I could've called you, I guess, but sun-up was close anyway." That explained the dark circles under Jamie's eyes. Pilgrim wondered whether he should ask Jamie to consider staying home from work after late nights, but then he thought better of it. Such a suggestion would be intrusive and presumptuous. Pilgrim had no claim over how Jamie spent his days. He also let the obvious _you should have called me_ remain unspoken.

"There are a couple things, actually. One's probably a big problem, the other's just weird. First, they know Lex is gone."

Pilgrim narrowed his eyes, and Jamie fidgeted. "I thought they already knew everything about that." Jamie had said he had told them _everything_, after all, and Pilgrim had assumed he meant Lex's disappearance too. He did not want to have that conversation in front of the I.R.C., but judging by the pained expression Jamie was wearing, he wouldn't have to.

"Not really. I mean, I only told them that he wasn't around, that I never saw him. They kept asking, and that's all I would say. But now they think he's dead, actually. That was the purpose of the rally."

"Dead?"

"Their analysts have been working nonstop lately. They noticed that the clan's tactics for electronic surveillance have changed. Also the Quarrymen's attempts at hacking into your systems are still failing, but for different reasons. So they brought in this hacking expert, right? And he says it's because it's a different person, actually lots of different people. He couldn't find a trace of Lex's usual style. They've dated the disappearance to the night of Goliath's death, so the official story is that Lex was in the explosion, too."

"They think we are more vulnerable than we seem."

"That's because you are," Jamie replied. He glanced nervously at Maureen, who was biting her lip but refrained from comment. Pilgrim gave her a weak smile, grateful that she was keeping her promise to support the trust he put in Jamie. "I mean, they're wrong about Lex being dead, but they've found out your best defense is gone."

Pilgrim considered the news. "They would notice. What do they think of his replacements?" Xanatos had hired a team of what he claimed were the best human computer experts that money could buy, but Lex's peculiar brand of genius was irreplaceable. No one knew that better than Pilgrim.

Jamie shrugged. "It's weird. They know he's good, and they're even willing to admit it. I think Castaway plays down your species' intelligence for the troops, but he obviously thinks Lex is someone to be worried about. He thinks his team has a better chance to beat whoever Xanatos has hired."

Maureen leaned forward. "So what does that mean, exactly? Is he going to attack?"

"He mentioned a new offensive but didn't give any details that made sense. That's the second thing. I'm not sure if he was serious or if he was just trying to get people excited."

"What is it?" Cecil asked.

"He said he found a way to get rid of the clan. That the best way to kill a bunch of supernatural monsters—he thinks you're a heathen witch-doctor, by the way, Pilgrim, it's kind of funny—is to fight fire with fire. He's going to rid the 'New World' of 'Old-World witchcraft' with 'a relic all our own.' He seemed a little . . . off. Normally he makes more sense. A lot of the guys were talking about it later, and no one really knows what he meant."

"That's all he told ye?"

"Yeah, sorry. I was just part of the audience. That's all he said."

"What does this relic have to do with Lex missing?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe coincidence."

"Doesn't sound like it," Maureen said. "It seems like they've probably suspected Lex of being dead for a while now. There's got to be a reason they waited."

"You might be right. I just don't know. But I've got a suggestion. What if I told them Lex is still around? He's talking to the clan now, right? I could be pretty convincing if I said Angela was talking to him just last night, since I wouldn't really have to lie. I think I could pull it off."

"And ye think this would give them pause? That Lexington is still around?"

"Right. If it's related to their next attack—if they're banking on Lex not being around to do some fancy computer work, say—then maybe they'll delay it or call it off completely."

"Or you'd ruin the surprise advantage that the gargoyles have right now," Maureen countered. "Right now the Quarrymen are underestimating the clan."

"Both could be true," Pilgrim said, trying to avert their disagreement. "I will take the matter to Brooklyn. I will ask Hudson if he knows anything about a relic."

Cecil cleared his throat. "About Lexington. If you're talking to him now, do you have any idea if he'll come back?"

"I do nae know. I am sorry. I am afraid that his absence will cause an attack against your group. If this is true, Brooklyn may feel deception is necessary."

* * *

When Pilgrim returned to the eyrie a short time later, most of the clan was away. Hudson was watching television with Bronx at his feet. Pilgrim hovered near the door, debating whether to disturb the elder gargoyle.

"Ye'd best come in lad. Ye're doing no one any good over there."

Pilgrim smirked and joined Hudson. He watched the news ticker on CNN for a while before Hudson broke the silence. "Brooklyn told me about yer Quarryman's news about Lexington. It would be easier, ye know. With Lexington back."

"Aye, probably."

Hudson flipped from a report on terrorist activity to a cooking show. A cheerful, plump human female was making omelettes.

"Would ye call him? If ye were in my place?" Pilgrim asked.

Hudson muted the television and turned his undivided attention toward Pilgrim. "Me? No. I have a stubborn streak a mile wide. Goliath was the same way. As Brooklyn is. Ye're different. I always liked ye because ye're so damned reasonable. Listen, lad. I cannae tell ye what to do. But ye like fairness and justice. So does Lexington. Ye're both so worried about offending the other that neither of ye will make the next move. So I guess I am saying that if I were ye, I would do what is best for the clan. And for the human we're protecting. And nay, before ye ask, I don't know a damned thing about a relic. That's more yer thing, isn't it? Religion and magic and all that?"

"Aye. Thank ye for thinking about it, anyway."

"Good. Now ye can either stay here and pretend to enjoy this 'Paula Deen,' or ye can call the lad already. I have a guess at what ye think is the right thing to do."

Pilgrim hated that Hudson was right. But so it was. That was why, shortly before midnight, he was hiding in Lex's old office staring at the "call" button on his phone.

If he begged Lexington to come back, then Lex would come. Lex was accommodating like that. Accommodation was what had caused all their problems in the first place, and Pilgrim did not want that. Lexington was polite and permissive. Pilgrim could not remember a single argument they'd had. Lexington and Brooklyn fought all the time.

Pilgrim threw the phone across the room. After a few minutes of well-deserved brooding, he retrieved the phone and left the castle. He glided toward Jamie's apartment building, feeling slightly foolish.

The window, as usual, was not locked. He slipped inside and knocked on the bedroom door. That Jamie always kept the door closed, even when alone in his one-bedroom flat, had puzzled him at first. Jamie explained that it was a habit he'd formed during college when he had shared a house with dozens of men. Frat boys, he'd explained, and then told stories about his brothers with delight. It was almost like a clan, Pilgrim had decided.

"Jamie?" he called to let the human know it was him. Of course, no one else would be knocking on his bedroom door in the middle of the night. Pilgrim supposed so, anyway.

After a few moments, he heard a groggy voice say, "Pilgrim? What's wrong? Come in."

Pilgrim opened the door to find Jamie sitting up in bed, shirtless and rubbing his eyes. "Nothing is wrong," he said, taking a moment to enjoy the view of Jamie's bare chest. "Well, no emergency. May I join ye?"

Jamie beckoned him to the bedside, and Pilgrim climbed in to lay beside him. "What happened?"

Pilgrim was not sure what to say. He wanted to tell the truth; they he had felt lonely, unwanted, and bitter, and the only person capable of making him feel better was Jamie. He also wanted to say "I missed you" and possibly "I cannot stop thinking about you." But Jamie had never said anything like that to him, and here Pilgrim was on shaky ground. He had never said such words to anyone. He had known all along that Lexington would never return those sentiments; this uncertainty about Jamie's feelings was new.

Jamie was an unknown. He did not know whether tender words would bring him closer or push him apart.

Jamie must have felt his hesitation because he encircled Pilgrim's waist in his arms. "It's all right. You don't have to explain."

"Jamie, will it be more dangerous for the I.R.C. now that the Quarrymen think Lexington is dead? I want yer opinion. Away from the others. Just between us."

Jamie kissed his cheek tenderly. "Yes. I think so."

Pilgrim sighed. "Then I must call him."

Jamie squeezed his hand. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

Yes, Pilgrim realized. He wanted Jamie beside him, even for this, even if it meant explaining their awkward history to his lover. But perhaps it would not come to that.

Jamie reached into Pilgrim's belt pocket and took the phone. Before Pilgrim could protest, Jamie pulled up the short contacts list and called Lexington.

Pilgrim pulled out of Jamie's loose embrace and panicked. Jamie was holding the phone to his ear, but Pilgrim could hear Lex's distinct voice say, "Hello?"

Memories of long nights spent on patrol with his kinsman rushed unexpectedly at him. Pilgrim tried to speak, but his voice caught on a vision of Lexington turning in the moonlight to smile at him. This is what he did not want to face, and suddenly Pilgrim hoped Lexington would never come back.

Jamie handed the phone to Pilgrim without saying a word. Pilgrim reluctantly took it.

"Pilgrim?" The voice was hard to read, purposefully guarded.

"Lex."

"Hi."

Pilgrim pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed both Hudson and Jamie. This was not a good idea. "Lex, we . . . I need to talk to ye."

"I know. I'm really glad you called." But Lex did not sound happy; he sounded sad. More accurately, he sounded accommodating.

"I almost did not," he admitted. "Lex, the clan needs your help."

"Wait, what? You're not calling about . . . anything personal?"

"Nay. I am sorry. I . . . I have much to say to ye. But not tonight."

"Okay, first of all, I'm not coming back."

"Lex, it's the Quarrymen. We need ye to help. They know ye are gone."

"You've got replacements. I picked them out myself. They're fine."

"The Quarrymen do nae think so. I have a way to get information about them. We think they may attack humans because ye are not around to coordinate. They think we are vulnerable."

"So you've got them at a disadvantage. The team Xanatos hired is good, I promise, no matter what Castaway thinks."

"That is what Maureen said."

"Who's Maureen?"  
"She . . . a human. It does nae matter. Lex, I have respected yer decision to leave. But I think there is danger for people in this. Humans."

Pilgrim listened to Lexington's breath. He tensed, and he could feel Jamie hug him from behind, his chin resting on the gargoyle's shoulder next to his folded wing.

"I didn't know that," Lex said at last. "I'll ask Xanatos to set up a remote link. Trick them into thinking I'm there, okay? But I'm not coming back. I like it here. I fit in here."

It was a struggle not to beg, but Lex had given him enough. "Aye. Yer choice, like I said. Ye are welcome to come home. Always. Or ye are welcome to stay there. It is yer choice, and I will nae stop either."

"Pilgrim, thank you. Thanks for calling. I don't like not being able to talk to you. Can I ask you something?"

"Aye."

"How is Brooklyn?" Pilgrim nearly crushed the phone in his hand. Jamie feathered his shoulder with a few slow, silent kisses, responding to his obvious stress. Lex continued, "Is he mad at me?"

Lex was young. Sometimes Pilgrim forgot that because Lex was smarter than anyone he'd ever met. The childlike worry in the question summoned the barely-forgotten jealousy that Pilgrim had put aside since Lex had gone. "Ask him yerself."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. It's just . . . I can't ask anyone else. You're the only one who knows everything, who gets it. And I can't talk to _him_. He'll do his 'I'm disappointed in you' routine he picked up from Goliath and Hudson. I couldn't take it."

"If ye've disappointed him, Lexington, ye deserve to hear it. And he deserves to say it."

"I can't believe you just said that."

"Ye can't expect me to be on yer side forever."

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I know it's my fault. I don't know how to fix it. Tell me how, and I'll do it. Anything. Do you want me to come back? Is that what it would take?"

"Nay." It was an immediate response, almost a denial. Pilgrim let it hang in the air. He did want Lexington back, but he didn't want what they'd had before. In fact, he realized, what he wanted had no part in this conversation. "Do nothing for my sake. The clan is struggling without yer help, but if ye can provide it from your Detroit, then we will cope. Ye're happy there. Stay there. I . . . think it is best we do nae talk again. It is nae the same for me as it is for ye. I get no joy from this." It hurt still, but Pilgrim wouldn't know how to say that even if Jamie weren't sitting next to him. "Good luck, Lexington. Talk to Xanatos. Good night."

He hung up before Lexington could respond and leaned back against Jamie's chest. "I caught most of that," Jamie told him, his hand traveling down to unbuckle Pilgrim's armor. "If Lexington will work remotely, I'll make sure they know when to be looking for his handiwork."

"I will ask Brooklyn his opinion, and I will suggest to him the wisdom of deceiving the Quarrymen about Lexington's presence here."

"It's not really deception. Just showing one of your cards."

"Cards?"

"Game metaphor. Poker. Means revealing information."

Pilgrim hummed and digested the new bit of slang. "Is there anything else ye did nae tell the I.R.C.? That ye will tell me?"

"No. Well, there is one thing. You know how I said Castaway seemed off? It's not new; it's just gotten worse. The guys and I were talking about it, and we think he seems crazy. Like he's slowly losing his mind or something. Just little things, the way he talks about the world. Some people are losing confidence in him. Not really in his message, just in him. I think some people want a change in management."

"Some people?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

Jamie hesitated. "I don't want to tell you that."

Pilgrim shrugged off his chest-piece and pulled Jamie away from the headboard onto his back. Pilgrim lay beside him and kissed the human's soft nipples, running his tongue gently across the pink flesh. Jamie hissed and bucked his hips.

"I don't . . . wow . . . I don't think you're in danger from not knowing," Jamie explained between moans as Pilgrim sucked and nipped at sensitive places on Jamie's torso.

"That's fine," Pilgrim replied. He would not force the human to tell him anything. When Jamie realized that talking was not particularly high on Pilgrim's agenda, he relaxed and let Pilgrim enjoy himself.

* * *

To be continued! Comments are always appreciated.


	10. The Lady

**Author's Note:** Thank you to my anonymous reviewers! Look how productive I've been! There are four more chapters planned after this, and bit and pieces of them are partially written (have been for a while.)

**Previously on Gargoyles:** The IRC (the Interspecies Relations Council) is cooperating with the clan to hinder the Quarrymen's plans. Jamie is a Quarryman who was spying on the IRC, but then the clan found out and now he's a double agent spying on the Quarrymen. Pilgrim is the clan's priest, and he's in charge of supervising the spy. Jamie and Pilgrim hooked up by playing a sexy trust game. This chapter has lots of action, a scary(?) lady, and more of Pilgrim's secrets!

** Fandom**: Disney's Gargoyles

**Time**: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

**Special** **Notes**: AU with OCs. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

**Warnings**: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death in Chapter 2. The rating is this site's definition of "M." It's not MA, which this site does not allow (even though I know it's not really enforced). There might eventually be a sexually explicit version on my website, but not here.

**Genre**: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

**Disclaimer**: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

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**10. The Lady**

* * *

The next few weeks were relatively quiet, so Pilgrim began to hope that whatever Lexington had done made Castaway think twice about attacking.

Tonight, though, Pilgrim woke to a heated argument behind him. His fellow clan members peered curiously into the room, where Owen and Xanatos were facing off against Jamie. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not notice the entire clan watching from the doorway.

"Look, I just want to talk to him!" Jamie shouted. "I don't see why that's such a big deal!"

Owen adjusted his glasses. "Be that as it may, your presence here is considered a security risk. The receptionist who let you through will be fired post-haste."

Jamie threw up his arms. "Look, you can search me for wires and weapons. I don't care. I just need to talk to him right away, and I didn't want to wait for him to answer his damn phone. Just tell him I'm here!"

Pilgrim glanced at Brooklyn, who shrugged. "Jamie?" Pilgrim asked guardedly. "What's wrong?"

The three humans whirled around. Xanatos smiled. "Ah, good evening. I apologize for the lapse in security. Your friend was very insistent that he see you immediately, Pilgrim. He bribed three guards and flirted with my receptionist. All four will, of course, be looking for new employment tomorrow. It's such a shame, too. Carl was an excellent assistant. The guards will not be missed."

Jamie's face turned red. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble, I just . . . Pilgrim, please can I talk to you alone?"

"Of course." Pilgrim led Jamie past his bewildered clan into the office he used to occupy with Lexington. "What is so important that it could nae wait for me to answer a text?"

Jamie ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. The human looked harried, and his eyes darted from Pilgrim to the ground multiple times, as if he couldn't decide where to look. "I need your help. It's . . . it's about the Quarrymen."

Pilgrim laid a hand on Jamie's shoulder. "Ye're in trouble? They did nae find out about . . . us, did they?"

"No. Nothing like that."

Pilgrim released the breath he'd been holding and pulled Jamie closer. "Tell me what is wrong, then."

"It's . . . it's not me who's in trouble. It's . . . ." Jamie looked at him helplessly, as if he couldn't finish.

"I cannae help if ye don't tell me what has happened."

Jamie sighed and leaned against him for support. "It's my dad. He just did something stupid, and I think he's going to be killed."

Pilgrim pulled out a chair for Jamie and waited for him to continue. Jamie cradled his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. "My dad isn't just a lieutenant. I lied." When Pilgrim didn't say anything, Jamie peeked up through his fingers, his shoulders tensed.

"Go on," Pilgrim said gently.

"He's one of Castaway's chief financial backers. That gets him a spot in Castaway's cabinet. That's what he calls it, anyway."

"He is high in the hierarchy."

"Yeah. That's part of why it's so important to him that I'm active in the group. It makes him look bad if I'm not. God, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I came. I can't ask you to do this."

Pilgrim knelt before Jamie and held his hands. "Jamie . . . love. Is it yer father who's in danger, then?"

Jamie nodded but did not look at him. "He's planning to steal the relic from Castaway and attack your clan himself. He thinks it'll discredit Castaway and help him take over."

"Yer father wants to _run_ the Quarrymen? Do ye know what the relic is, then?"

Jamie tangled his fingers in his hair. "Yes. No. Yes, he wants to run the Quarrymen. No, I don't know what the relic is. I don't think my dad knows, either. I'm not sure Castaway's told anyone at all. I don't know how it's supposed to help kill your clan. But we know where it is."

"When is this attack? If my clan is in danger, we must tell the others."

"No, we can't! I don't know. It's not planned yet. But my dad's gonna steal it tonight. That's why I needed you now. I tried to make him wait, make him see reason, but I think he's gonna die trying to get this thing because he doesn't have enough people with him. Please, you've got to keep Castaway's men from hurting him. And you can't tell anyone!"

Pilgrim stood and folded his arms. "Ye cannae think I would fall for that."

Jamie gaped at him. "What?"

"I cannae trust anything ye tell me about the Quarrymen. Why should I trust this? If yer father wants to gain loyalty with troops all he must do is ask ye to get one of us alone, and attack. No. This is a trap."

"That's . . . okay, it looks suspicious. I get that. But I'm telling the truth."

"Ye must think I'm a fool."

"No. I think you're the only chance I've got to keep my dad from being killed."

"The only evidence I have that this relic exists at all is yer word. There was no recording of the rally. There is no proof yer father is even in the Quarrymen. Xanatos found nothing."

"Then he wasn't looking hard enough! I can't believe this. Pilgrim, please."

"Nay."

"He's a human in your protectorate. You have to protect him. It's what you do, isn't it?"

Pilgrim glared.

"And I'm going to be there, too. I'm in just as much danger as he is. Look, if I wanted to get you alone somewhere so Castaway could grab you, I'd have done it a long time ago. We're alone together all the time, aren't we? I said I'd never hurt you, and I meant it."

"Then why do ye not want me to warn my clan?"

"Are you kidding? You seriously think I want to walk up to Brooklyn, tell him my dad wants to be the next John Castaway, and ask him to help save his life?"

"Ye just asked the same of me."

"Yeah, but he'd tell Maureen."

"I could do that too."

Jamie faltered. "I know you could. I just don't think you would really do that to me."

"Nay," Pilgrim said after a moment's thought. "I will nae tell her. Or Brooklyn. But I will nae do this thing for ye, either."

"Pilgrim, please. If you care about me at all, please help me."

"What could I do, even if I tried?"

"Help him steal it."

Pilgrim blinked. "Help him steal it. That is yer plan?"

"I know how that sounds, believe me, but hear me out. Take out a few guards, stay out of sight, make sure he gets out alive. If you wanna try to talk him out of it, then fine, but he'd probably shoot you before you got a single word in."

"Or I will steal it myself. Let neither of them have it."

"Don't you think I thought of that already? If neither of them has it, they'll know it was you, and they'll know I told you where it was. Then _I'd_ be dead."

"I can protect ye."

"That's very romantic of you, but no, you can't. Not every second of the day."

"We will go to Xanatos. He can hide ye here."

"Pilgrim, I can't live like that."

Pilgrim growled in frustration and started pacing in the small room. "When will this theft occur?"

"Soon." Jamie checked the time on his phone. "Fifteen minutes."

"There is nothing for it, then. Brooklyn would argue for at least an hour about it." And if it was a trap, Pilgrim thought, he didn't want to drag his clan into it with him. And he couldn't risk losing Jamie if the human were telling the truth. "Let's go. We will sneak through the east tower so no one will see."

"Really?"

"Aye."

Jamie pounced on him and kissed him thoroughly. "I love you," he breathed against Pilgrim's lips, then tensed. Evidently he had not planned on saying those particular words. "I mean, thank you."

Pilgrim smiled and gave his human a second, softer kiss. His misgivings about the plan faded considerably. "I love ye, too. Follow me and be quiet."

Luckily, the clan had stayed in the main hall as they waited for Pilgrim to return with some sort of information. The hallways leading east and west were clear. Pilgrim took Jamie's hand and led him through the dark hall, staying as close to the wall as possible.

After they ducked into a room at the base of the east tower, they were no longer in danger of being seen. Pilgrim ran up the spiral staircase, careful not to outpace Jamie by too much.

When they reached the rooftop, Jamie stopped short.

"Wait. I can't fly, remember?"

"Neither can I."

"Glide. Whatever. I can't do that either."

"I will carry ye."

"No way. Not that I don't trust you, but I've got this thing about heights. And falling from them."

"Where is the relic?"

"QHQ. Quarryman Headquarters."

"The only way we will get there in time is by air. And Xanatos will notice if we steal a helicopter. And kidnap a pilot, too, unless ye know how to work one of those things."

"But . . . ."

"Trust me."

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

Jamie grumbled some more, but he allowed Pilgrim to pick him up. The human was light cargo, but his grip was painfully tight as Pilgrim spread his wings and jumped off the rooftop. He was top-heavy now that he had a passenger, so the drop was sharper than he expected, causing Jamie to squirm, which made it worse.

Eventually he achieved his usual equilibrium, though, and Jamie gradually relaxed his death grip. He refused to look down, no matter how pretty Pilgrim claimed the view was.

At Jamie's direction, he dropped them off onto a building a few blocks from their destination. The Quarrymen usually watched the air, Jamie explained, but not the alleys.

They paused in a shadowy doorway to plan.

"I can't be seen with you. I'm going to help my father with the theft."

"I do nae want ye in there. If there will be fighting, I'd rather ye be safe."

"No. I'm not hiding while you risk your life for my asshole of a father, okay? Now they'll be going into the southwest entrance. There are several of them, but they're not taking a big group. I'm afraid they'll be overwhelmed by the security inside. Follow us in, take the first right while we go straight. It'll lead you around in a loop, away from the room the relic's in, but that's where they station a lot of the guards. They're the ones I think you need to take out. Make sure they don't see you if you can help it. I don't know how we'll explain you if they know you were there. At the end of that hall, take a right. We'll be in the next room. I'm worried we'll set off an alarm, so be ready. Take out anyone you can so long as you remain undetected; otherwise don't do anything unless it's life or death, okay?"

Pilgrim signaled that he understood, and he followed Jamie at a distance.

Just as Jamie said, a small contingent of Quarrymen was waiting nearby. He saw Jamie greet a taller, stockier human that must have been his father. After the group started moving, it was difficult to tell which hooded figure was Jamie.

The team took out the lone guard at the door and advanced inside. As instructed, Pilgrim followed silently behind, catching the door before it closed. The hall inside was familiar since Pilgrim had been there before, but this time he did not have the comfort of knowing his clan and a small army of Xanatos Enterprises employees were waiting nearby.

His heart was pounding in his chest as he tried not to think about how easy it would be to die in that building. Instead he focused on finding the hallway that Jamie told him about. It was not difficult; he opened the door and immediately saw a guard leaning against a wall.

Castaway might be keeping a private army in Manhattan, but they were not as well-trained as they could have been. That gave Pilgrim the advantage he needed; otherwise it would be nearly impossible to take down a man without first being seen.

He slunk to the ground and approached the first guard from behind. He pulled one half of his kilt from around his waist and flung it over the human's head, holding just tightly enough to block the man from breathing. From practice he knew how hard to hit a human head to cause unconsciousness but not death, but pulling it off was risky and never a sure thing. Blacking out from lack of air was another story, however, and Pilgrim made certain the man was still breathing before he moved to the next station.

He repeated the process seven times, then found himself at the end of the corridor. It was time to see if Jamie's group had managed their part in the caper.

He could hear muffled voices a short distance to his right, and a peculiar light was coming from a door that was ajar. A Quarryman lay on the ground in front, his head twisted at what must have been an uncomfortable angle.

Pilgrim approached as quickly as he safely could, then lifted the man's hood. He was relieved to see that it was not Jamie, first of all, and also happy to find that the man was alive.

He peered into the room through the crack in the door. Jamie's group was there—Pilgrim counted to make certain no one was missing, and relaxed. Two were standing near a safe in the middle of the back wall, the taller one working the combination lock. The other was approximately Jamie's height, but since Jamie's stature was average Pilgrim could not be certain if it was him. It made sense that his father would be opening the safe himself, though.

Pilgrim held his breath as the man turned the knob to open the safe, but to his relief no alarm sounded.

The man retrieved a small, golden object from the safe.

"The hell is that?" the short man asked, and Pilgrim was gratified to hear that it was Jamie's voice.

His father—Pilgrim decided it was a safe assumption—turned the object over in his hands. "It's supposed to summon a spirit. Somehow."

"Have you tried rubbing it three times?"  
"Don't be glib." The man paused, sighed, and brushed his sleeve over the surface.

Jamie snickered but immediately stopped when the relic began to glow. "Um. I didn't really expect that to work."

"It doesn't really," said a female voice. "I just think it's great fun to pop out when people try that old gag."

Jamie and his father jumped back a couple paces to make room for a woman who was now standing between them. The remaining group shuffled nervously. She was wearing an ankle-length dress and a head-scarf, and she appeared human for the most part. Pilgrim had seen fae before, and this creature certainly held herself like one, as if the silly mortals in the room were props or toys. She grinned as she swept her dark eyes over the room.

"What's the matter, boys?"

"You're a genie," Jamie's father said.

She sighed. "I am one of the jinn, yes. I recommend you get over that hang-up quickly."

"So you . . . ."

"Grant three wishes? No. Everyone gets that wrong. Sure, there might have been one or two of us imprisoned in lamps or pocketwatches, doomed to grant wishes to mortals until a selfless person frees him or her. Sorry, but I'm not one of them. I just like living in a shiny lamp."

"Oh. Well. So you're not capable of killing the gargoyles, then?"

"What, the guardians that Castaway fellow kept going on about? I suppose I could. For the right price. He couldn't pay it, though. I doubt you could afford it, either."

"Right. Well, we can talk terms later. Do you have any objection to my taking this?"

"What, my house? Oh sure, why not? Castaway was a bore, anyway. At least you're funny."

Even under the hood, Pilgrim could tell that Jamie's father was not pleased with this assessment. "What do you find so amusing about me, Ms. . . . ?"

"Lady. It's what everyone who's got any sense calls me. You, James Nichols Sr., the man who thinks it's more important to be in charge of killing your own guardians than for the job to be done in the first place. And you!" She turned to Jamie, and in the low light her smile looked wicked. She slid a sensuous arm around Jamie's neck and whispered something in his ear. Jamie staggered backward as she laughed quietly. "It's not every day I see so many liars, thieves, and killers in one place."

She swept her gaze across the crowd, and for one terrifying moment Pilgrim swore she paused to look at him in the doorway. He might have imagined it, though, because she turned to Jamie's father again without changing her expression. "I'll stick with you for the moment. But don't get your hopes up; I'm not promising anything."

She snapped her fingers and disappeared, presumably into the lamp, which had stopped glowing.

The room was silent for an uncomfortable time. A few of the men shifted their weight, waiting for the next order. Finally Jamie's father said, "Let's just get the hell out of here."

Pilgrim retreated to a dark corner while the group made their escape. He had to take a detour once or twice to prevent a roving guard from seeing them.

Once he was outside, he tracked them to their initial meeting-place in the alleys, but it appeared from their conversation that Jamie was going to be with them for a while yet. He could find no way to get Jamie's attention, so he simply sent a text message saying he'd be at the castle.

Pilgrim turned a corner only to come face-to-face with a cross-looking Brooklyn.

"Ach, brother. Ye scared me," Pilgrim whispered, ushering Brooklyn away from the Quarrymen.

Brooklyn seemed to understand the situation, so it was some time before he spoke again. "What's going on?"

"I am sorry. There was nae time to explain, or plan."

"Pilgrim, you can't just take off like that. You have a GPS tracker, remember? What was I supposed to think happened when I saw where you were?"

"I know. Jamie . . . was in trouble. I needed to make sure he was safe, but he could nae delay without breaking his cover. I was nae sure if he was telling the truth, and I did nae want to risk anyone else's life if it was a trap. I could nae tell ye."

"I don't want you risking your life for this guy, either."

"It was my choice. He appears to have been telling the truth."

"So his cover's safe?"

"Aye."

Brooklyn gave him a hard look. "Tell me what's going on. That's an order."

Pilgrim leaned against the brick wall of the alley. "I am nae sure, exactly. I found out what the relic is, though."

"You did? That's what this is about?"

"Aye. It was worth the risk, brother, I assure ye."

"What is it?"

"I think it is a fae, or something like it. She is tethered to an object, a gold . . . thing. I did nae recognize it. But I saw her. She said she was a . . . jinn."

"She's a jinni? How the hell did Castaway get a jinni?"

"I take it ye've met one before, then?"

"Well, no, not really. They're from a story."

"I think Puck may be able to help us. The . . . Lady said unusual things. Things I did nae understand."

"Good idea. I'm gonna fill everyone in. Where's your human?"

"Jamie is with the Quarrymen. There is one other thing you must know."

"What?"

"The Quarrymen have at least two factions. Jamie's father is leading one of them. He just stole the relic from Castaway. Jamie and I helped bring that about."

Brooklyn uncrossed his arms. "Come again?"

"I did nae know the details until tonight. I will explain why it was necessary later, but now I must find Jamie. I will meet ye when I have made sure he is safe."

Brooklyn looked supremely unimpressed. "That better be a damn good explanation, Pilgrim."

"It will nae be, I'm afraid. But I got us information, remember that."

"I'll call you once we've got Puck and everyone ready, okay? Bring Jamie. I want to talk to him."

Pilgrim did not like the angry undercurrent he heard in Brooklyn's voice when he said that, but he could think of no way to convince Brooklyn of Jamie's trustworthiness, except to bring Jamie to the meeting as requested.

* * *

Jamie texted him a short time later: _I've gotten rid of them. Please come. I'm at home._

Pilgrim was already in the living room as Jamie's key turned in the lock. He greeted Jamie with a nod, and Jamie joined him on the sofa. The human sagged against him. Pilgrim waited for Jamie to stop shaking before broaching the necessary topic.

"I told Brooklyn most of what I saw. I know ye did nae want that, but it is my duty." Jamie shrugged. "I will try to keep it from Maureen, if it is possible. The important thing now is Brooklyn wants to talk to ye. We are meeting with Puck tonight."

"Puck?"

"Xanatos' personal assistant, Owen. His other name is Puck. He is one of Oberon's children, and he may know something about the jinn. Ye're going to meet with everyone soon."

"I have no idea what you just said. I just want to go to sleep and forget this ever happened. Can't it wait?"

"Nay. I'm sorry, Jamie, but Brooklyn will nae wait. And neither will I."

"I guess that's fair."

"What did she say to ye?" Pilgrim asked.

Jamie shuddered. "It doesn't matter."

"Did ye tell yer father what she said?"

"God, no. I said it was gibberish. Some other language."

"Was it?"

"No. She . . . she can read minds or something. I don't like her."

"What did she say?"

"She told me to ask you something."

"Ask me what?"

Jamie snuggled closer. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "Did you ever try to kill yourself?"

Pilgrim managed to stay still enough despite a sudden urge to run away. "She said I did?"

"Technically," Jamie said, his voice low, "she said that I should ask my friend why he saw fit to slice his wrists with a crooked dagger on a Scottish hillside. I assumed she meant you."

"Aye. I did. A long time ago."

"With this knife? The one that . . . ?"

The one that Pilgrim had stabbed him in the shoulder with, he supplied in his thoughts. Jamie's hand had found the hilt of the dagger to make his point. "Aye."

Jamie let out a weary breath and hugged Pilgrim tightly. "Promise me you'll never do that again."

"Ye do nae plan to ask me why I did?" Pilgrim asked, returning the embrace, but more gently.

"Do you _want_ to tell me?"

"Nay. It was a long time ago. Before my life with Clan Wyvern. As far as my clan and I are concerned, it did nae happen."

"And won't happen again?"

"Nay. Never again." And because Jamie seemed to need to hear it, he added, "I promise."

"Then you don't need to tell me why. Not just because some stupid genie thinks it's funny."

Pilgrim let Jamie hold him for a few moments more, but eventually the inevitable interruption came. His phone buzzed with a new message from Brooklyn. "We should go now."

"'Kay." Pilgrim was surprised to hear Jamie sniffle, but he did not comment on it.

"I meant what I said," Jamie told him as he paused before the window.

"Hm?"

"That I love you."

Pilgrim caressed Jamie's cheek with a free talon. "And I meant it, as well. I will meet ye downstairs. There is a car waiting to take us to the castle."

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To be continued! Reviews are appreciated—and if they're not anonymous, I'll even respond to them!


	11. The Truth

**Previously****on****Gargoyles:** The IRC (the Interspecies Relations Council) is cooperating with the clan to hinder the Quarrymen's plans. Jamie is a Quarryman who was spying on the IRC, but then the clan found out and now he's a double agent spying on the Quarrymen. Pilgrim is the clan's priest, and he's in charge of supervising the spy. Jamie and Pilgrim hooked up by playing a sexy trust game. Jamie's father just stole a genie from John Castaway and plans to take over the Quarrymen and probably kill the gargoyles with it, too.

** Fandom**: Disney's Gargoyles

**Time**: Takes place after Brooklyn returns from his time-dancing.

**Special** **Notes**: AU with OCs. The story focuses on two author-created characters, but the all of the cannon clan are there too.

**Warnings**: Caveat lector (reader beware). M/M interspecies SLASH. That means a sexual relationship between a male human and a male gargoyle. Major character death in Chapter 2.

**Genre**: Action/Plot; Romance; Angst.

**Disclaimer**: Most of the content is owned by Disney. Original characters are owned by me.

^^V^^

**11. The Truth**

^^V^^

Jamie had never been privy to a clan meeting before. He felt more like a witness on the hot seat than a guest, and he supposed that was accurate. After he'd explained his part in the jinni debacle, he'd stared wide-eyed from Brooklyn to Puck. Brooklyn was more reserved than usual; he didn't make any jokes and seemed just as wary of Puck as Jamie was.

Puck was an interesting creature. He was in his fae form, and his colorful clothes and long hair were unsettling in the otherwise somber atmosphere. He smiled throughout the entire meeting. At his most serious, he wore a smirk.

"Ah, a d'jinn," he mused once the entire clan was watching him. "It's been a while since I've seen one of those. It should prove interesting, even if it doesn't turn out to be very fun."

"We're not looking for fun," Brooklyn admonished him. "We just need her gone."

"Well, that'll be difficult. But I think I have an idea."

Jamie was not the only person to let out a held breath.

"Good," Brooklyn said. "What is it?"

"Tsk, tsk, my gargoyle brother; you'll spoil the surprise!" Puck was grinning maniacally. "Besides, I don't know if it'll work, and I wouldn't want to let you down. Give me twenty-four hours. I'll get back to you."

"Wait, at least let me know—"

But Puck was gone with a snap of his fingers.

"Damn it," Brooklyn muttered.

Pilgrim grunted softly and shifted forward in the chair next to Jamie.

"Does he always do that?" Jamie whispered near Pilgrim's ear.

"Aye. Ye never really get used to it."

Brooklyn broke into their conversation. "You two need to get to work. Jamie, try to talk some sense into your father. Pilgrim, watch him. Everyone else, same drill as always, but keep an eye out. Okay?"

Murmurs of assent dismissed the meeting.

^^V^^

Lexington handed a beaker to Liz, his lab partner for the evening. Several other pairs of analysts were working quietly in the room. Lex enjoyed the quiet hum of computers and the louder whir of centrifuges, along with the tinkling of glass stirs and persistent click of typing. It was nice to be able to concentrate for hours at a time, and now have to worry about—

"Sweet Fates, this place is boring." Lexington jumped at the abrupt exclamation that originated approximately two feet from his left ear. Luckily he wasn't holding anything breakable, but Liz wasn't so lucky; the beaker crashed to the ground as she shrieked. "There, that's better. Really, however do you stand it?"

Lex rolled his eyes and watched Puck float nonchalantly in midair. The humans were muttering amongst themselves, but they kept relatively calm. Lex assumed that they'd either been briefed on the possibility of encountering fairy tricksters (unlikely) or were simply taking their lead from him (probably). "Hi, Puck," he said carefully. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, this and that."

"What do you want?"

"Just to chat."

"About what exactly?"

"Well, for starters, nice hat."

Lexington yanked his hair net from his head, only slightly embarrassed. "Okay, I've got two requests. One, please stop rhyming. Two, don't make fun of the hat, everyone's wearing them; it's a delicate experiment."

Puck smirked. "I'm sure. Actually, I prefer it this way; you dyed your hair."

Lexington tried—and failed—not to look at his reflection in the stainless steel cabinet door. He now boasted a purple streak on one side of his black hair. Liz had decided it would suit him. "It's nice that you came all the way from Manhattan to insult me, Puck. It's very touching. But did you have a point?"

"Mm." Puck made an unsatisfied sound and kicked off from the counter, coasting around the room. "This is a nice set-up; I can see why you've stayed as long as you have."

"Oh, no." Lex washed his hands hurriedly and grabbed Puck's ankle as he passed by again. "I don't care why you care, but I'm not going back."

"Who said anything about going back?"

"You."

"I did not!" Puck shook himself free of Lex's loose grasp.

"You implied it."

"Please. The great Puck does not imply."

"Yes, you do. That's _all_ you do."

"Why would I ask you to come back? I'm just here to give you some advice." Puck perched on the counter next to him and rested his legs in the sink.

"I really don't need your advice, thank you." Lexington stooped to help Liz sweep up the broken glass from the floor.

"Oh, but I think you do. See, you think I'm here to tell you how your clan can't handle things without you and that you should come back, waah, waah, et cetera, but I assure you that couldn't be farther from the truth."

"You don't say. Here, Liz, use this rag."

"I do say. In fact, your clan is getting along just fine without you, and that's your problem. Your clan doesn't need you; it's greater than the sum of its parts. They've lost members before and found a way to move on."

"Good. That was my intention." Lexington decided that what he felt was definitely _not_ disappointment but rather irritation that Puck had ruined this phase of the experiment.

"I'm sure it was. Your problem, however, is that _you_ can't live without your clan."

"I seem to be doing just fine, actually."

"So you _seem_. But that's not the case, is it?"

Lex had run out of mess to clean, so he stood up and glared. "It's very much the case. Look, Puck, I appreciate your concern or whatever this is. But I'm fine. Now please go. You're putting the scientists through an existential crisis. They don't believe in the fair folk."

Puck sniffed. "But they're okay with a gargoyle?"

"Only if I promise not to talk to floating people."

"Right, well, suit yourself. Since you're doing so fine and all, I suppose I should pop back to New York and see how the Quarrymen are doing with their d'jinn."

Lexington blinked. "Wait, their what? A d'jinn? You mean like a real genie?"

"Shh!" Puck put a finger in front of his mouth. "You don't want to upset the scientists."

"Puck, shut up about the scientists, okay? Tell me about the d'jinn."

"Oh, well, she's annoying and all-powerful and the Quarrymen are fighting over her, and the clan is probably going to have to fight her when things go all to hell because someone's bound to ask her to destroy the gargoyles—but this couldn't possibly be interesting to you. It'll probably just end in the usual climactic battle of gargoyle versus villain, and you're busy measuring chemicals and saving lives in your own boring way."

"Puck," Lexington said, lowering the pitch of his voice as a warning.

"And Clan Wyvern has it all under control, I assure you, even though they haven't figured out how to defeat a d'jinn, which is probably because there isn't a way to. I'm sure they'll think of something, especially now that Pilgrim has gotten all buddy-buddy with . . . well, anyway. Toodle-loo."

"Wait, don't—"

But Puck was gone. Lexington shook his head and shrugged at the baffled humans. Liz helped him re-fill the beaker, but the sounds of the lab were no longer comforting. They were boring. Lexington sighed and slipped off his lab coat. "Sorry," he said to the room at large. "I need to check on something."

When he got to the roof, there was already a helicopter waiting. Owen was inside. He didn't smile, but Lexington could tell Puck was laughing on the inside. For his part, Lexington crossed his arms across his chest and refused to say another word for the entire trip.

^^V^^

Jamie was trying to be philosophical about helping people who were sort of his friends find a way to defeat his father. He wasn't doing a very good job at it, though, especially since the I.R.C. had no idea that Castaway's rival was even remotely related to him. Brooklyn had kept his word on that account, at least.

Pilgrim was explaining the plans for an assault on Jamie's father's warehouse, where the relic was being guarded. He was fuzzy on the details of why grabbing the relic would stop the d'jinn, but it was the only idea anyone had.

"You've got a good start on the schematics, but the placement of the explosives is all wrong."

Pilgrim froze midsentence at the interruption and looked past Jamie's shoulder. Confused, Jamie looked around for the unfamiliar speaker. He was startled to see a gargoyle he had never met before followed closely by Brooklyn and Katana. He was smaller than Pilgrim—almost as small as the females—with yellow-green skin over well-toned muscles and a beautiful face. His black hair had a purple streak down the center, and it had been cut in some futuristic way that reminded him of techno clubs. He was young, perhaps the same age as Broadway or Angela. And God, was he gorgeous. He wasn't tough in the sexy way that Pilgrim was (the new gargoyles looked downright _nice_, despite the haircut and edgy clothes), but he had his own charms.

Pilgrim's expression was more disturbing than the sudden appearance of the newcomer. It was hard to tell, exactly, which emotion played across Pilgrim's face—shock, joy, anger, sadness—perhaps all of them. When the answer to the puzzle finally occurred to him, Jamie felt embarrassed that he'd had to wonder at all. Of course this was the infamous Lexington. Angela and Broadway jumped up to and hugged him, their rushed words confirming his identity.

"Lex!" Angela cried, throwing her arms around her brother. "I'm so glad you're back, safe! Everyone, this is Lexington."

Lexington glanced around nervously as Angela made some brief introductions. Finally he cleared his throat and gestured toward the plans. "The explosives need to be planted here, here, and here, to target the key points of structural integrity without harming the humans on the other side of the building. Angela, Broadway, you two should probably be the ones to plant them on target. Pilgrim . . ."

Lexington's voice trailed off as he stared at Pilgrim. The humans in the room collectively turned to look, too; it was evident to all that something awkward was happening. "Um, you can take whatever position you like. I'm going to be at my usual post as a coordinator."

Pilgrim blinked too quickly. "I will be stealing the relic," he said quietly. "Alone."

At this announcement, Lexington bit his lip as if to prevent himself from saying anything in reply. Instead he turned back to his audience and said, "Okay. Puck had an idea about how to get the d'jinn to work for us instead of against us. But it's going to take some planning."

Jamie found it difficult to follow the rest of the conversation because Pilgrim would not meet his eyes, no matter how much he tried to get his attention.

^^V^^

Pilgrim fled the room when the meeting was finally over. He did not know whether to be furious at Brooklyn for giving him no warning or happy that Lexington was finally back where he belonged. He wanted to be alone to think about what to do now and what he was going to tell Jamie.

Of course Lexington followed him into the alley, worry etched on his face. "Pilgrim," he began, but he threw up his hands in surrender, as if unable to continue.

"Lexington. It is good ye have come back." Pilgrim wanted to look away, but the sight of the younger gargoyle was too comforting. He wanted visual proof that Lexington truly was safe.

"I'm . . . glad to hear to say that. I was afraid you wouldn't want me here."

"I never wanted ye to leave in the first place."

Lexington shuffled his feet and looked down at the ground. "I know. I'm sorry. Thanks for letting me go."

"Ye needed it."

Lexington approached him in the tense silence that followed and stood very close but not quite touching. His voice was low when he spoke again. "I've been thinking a lot about what I did and what . . . happened between us. I feel like I should be apologizing to you forever to make up for it."

Pilgrim put a hesitant hand on Lexington's shoulder. "That is nae necessary. I have always understood."

"Nevertheless. I had a lot of time to think in Detroit. I realized that you've been so good to me, never pushing, never asking for more than I could give you. It's more than I deserved."

When Lexington slipped his hands under Pilgrim's wings, pulling him into a gentle embrace, Pilgrim did not know how to react. He knew he should push Lexington away, but after that confession it would have been seemed like he was bitter over Lexington's behavior. And he wasn't, he realized; he just wanted Lexington to forgive himself and move on. "Lex," he began, unsure how to continue.

Lexington shook his head. "Let me finish. Pilgrim, please forgive me." Pilgrim nodded; encouraged, Lexington smiled. "Please give me another chance."

Lexington slipped a hand behind Pilgrim's neck and reached up to kiss him. Pilgrim twitched, his hands moving to Lexington's wrists to stop him, but the next moment their lips connected. He allowed it for one brief moment before tightening his grip and pulling Lexington's hands away from him. Lexington resisted at first, but then he jumped backward when the door opened behind them.

^^V^^

Jamie opened the door and froze when he saw them, kissing, Pilgrim's hands guiding Lexington's wrists into an embrace. He had only enough time to stop walking forward when Pilgrim jumped away from Lexington.

"Jamie," Pilgrim said in surprise.

"What's wrong?" Lexington asked, innocent as can be.

Jamie took a deep breath. "Nothing," he choked out, and then backed out of the alley in a daze. He had only gotten so far as the door to an empty conference room when he felt a strong hand on his arm. He turned, about to tell Pilgrim off, when he realized he was staring right into the dark, sensual eyes of Lexington.

"Hi," Lexington said, letting go and giving him a weak smile. "Look, um, I should apologize."

Jamie held his hand up. "No, it's okay. Really. I'm going."

"Wait." Lexington grabbed the arm again. "I didn't know. I swear."

"Look, Lexington, it's fine. No need to apologize."

"Lex. Call me Lex. And I kissed him. He was just about to turn me down, he just didn't get the chance, I knew, and I kissed him anyway. I don't even know why I did it."

Jamie raised his eyebrows, trying to suggest that the answer was beyond him, as well.

"Don't leave on my account. He explained everything. He loves you, and he doesn't mean anything to me."

Someone cleared his throat, and Jamie and Lexington both turned to see Pilgrim in the archway. "That is enough, I think," Pilgrim said, looking a bit put out.

"Uh, I didn't mean . . ."

"Aye. Ye did."

Lexington flushed. "Well, I was just leaving. Bye. Nice to meet you, Jamie." He all but ran out the door, leaving Pilgrim and Jamie alone together in the hallway.

"Lex," Pilgrim called, but Lexington did not return. Pilgrim turned to face Jamie with a sheepish expression. "Jamie, I . . ."

Jamie crossed his arms across his chest. "So you're what, ex-boyfriends?"

Pilgrim looked pained. "Aye."

"And you didn't think you should tell me about him?"

"I meant to tell ye, I just did nae know how or when. I am sorry."

"Who dumped whom? Why'd he leave?"

Pilgrim looked confused but didn't ask about the language. "I ended what was between us. He left for other reasons."

"So what was that back there, him asking to have you back?"

"Aye, I think so anyway."

"Good. Go back to him, then. It's probably for the best." Jamie was mortified that his voice cracked, and he started to leave before he broke down.

Pilgrim grabbed him arm and pulled him back firmly. "Stop, Jamie, please. I turned him down."

"That's not what it looked like to me."

"I did nae know what to do. It is as Lex said, I would have turned him down as soon as I could stop him, but ye saw us first and I had to tell him after that."

Jamie leaned back against the wall, torn between anger and disbelief. "Why?"

"Why . . . why what?"

"Why would you tell him no?" Jamie recalled all the times Pilgrim would look devastated when he spoke about Lexington. He should have known there was more to it than a missing clan member; he felt like an idiot and a fool.

It did not help that Pilgrim was looking at him like he was an idiot and a fool, either. "Because of you," he said, enunciating his English more precisely than usual.

"If so, then you're crazy, and you should go crawling back to him," he snapped. "He's your own kind, you've missed him so much it was hard for you even to talk about him, and I've _seen_ the guy, so I can't blame you. And hey, he's not your sworn enemy. I don't see one single point in my favor, so just . . . go." He gestured toward the glowing red exit sign. He was surprised to find that he was breathing heavily.

Pilgrim did not obey. He bowed his head, and his grip on Jamie's shoulders loosened into a familiar, gentle caress. "I left Lexington for good cause. We do nae understand each other. Ye are very different, in all the best ways." His eyes begged Jamie to stay; Jamie dropped his arms in defeat.

Pilgrim pulled Jamie away from the wall toward him. "I meant to tell ye. I did nae want to think of him at first. But then . . . I just did nae think of him at all." He lifted a hand to Jamie's cheek and enfolded Jamie in a gentle embrace. Jamie felt the familiar warmth of the gargoyle's wings around him and leaned against Pilgrim's chest.

"Do you love him?" Jamie asked, not wanting to give in completely.

Pilgrim spent the next few breaths running his talons through Jamie's hair. When Jamie was just about to accept silence as assent, Pilgrim spoke. "Aye. I always have, and always will. He is the kindest person I know."

Jamie choked on his words and clung to Pilgrim, not wanting to hear more. "Jamie, ye heard him yerself. It was nae a lie, that I mean nothing to him. It is why I ended it between us, before I knew he planned to leave. He loves Brooklyn, nae me."

Jamie pulled back and studied Pilgrim's expression. He looked sad and earnest. "Brooklyn? But he's . . ."

"Unavailable."

"Well, yeah. Really unavailable."

"He was nae always so. And even then Lex was just a friend to him. It was enough for Lex for a time, but when Brooklyn returned with a mate and children, Lex came to me. He knew how I felt about him—I had nae made a secret of it."

"He used you." Jamie found his anger suddenly shifted toward Lexington.

"I think he hates himself for it. Do nae think badly of him."

The picture was becoming clearer to Jamie, and he pulled Pilgrim tighter, trying to be comforting. "It's okay. I'm here now."

"Aye." Pilgrim brought their foreheads together and nuzzled against him. "Forgive me for nae telling ye about him."

"Forgiven." He intended to kiss Pilgrim once, chastely, but Pilgrim deepened the kiss with desperation and longing. When they parted, Jamie was panting and hard. He tried to speak between nibbles at his neck. "I just . . . I was just surprised. It's a human thing, I guess. And I know . . . I know you've made a lot of allowances with me being human, with all the . . . human food and the human bed and the human need for mornings after . . . and this is just me being human again. I want to know everything about you. I don't want you to keep secrets from me."

Jamie groaned when Pilgrim stopped kissing his collarbone and met his gaze again. "This is a human desire, to know your lover's past?"

"It's, uh, it's pretty common, yeah."

Pilgrim kiss his lips again, lightly this time. He sighed and seemed to be considering his words carefully. "Ye make more allowances for me than I do for ye. Ye do nae complain that I cannae see ye during the day. That I cannae sleep next to ye. That we cannae live together. Let me finish," Pilgrim instructed when Jamie began shaking his head in protest. "Ye make these allowances for things I cannae control. But telling you about myself? I can do this for you."

Jamie smiled. "That's . . . really sweet. Thanks." But Pilgrim looked too sober for the situation. "What's wrong?"

Pilgrim caressed Jamie's cheek. "I was not purposefully keeping Lex a secret from ye."

"I know. It's okay."

"But there is something I have nae been telling ye. Something I did nae want ye to know."

Jamie hadn't been expecting that. "What?"

"It will take some explanation, and here is not the place for it. May we go to your apartment?"

Jamie nodded, confused and filled with dread. But he followed Pilgrim home anyway.

^^V^^

Lexington strode into the meeting room and glared at Broadway, Angela, Matt, and the three members of the IRC—Maureen, Cecil, and Andrew—that had stayed after hours. "Why didn't anyone tell me about the Quarryman?" They all looked up at him innocently.

"Who, Jamie?" Broadway asked.

"Of course, Jamie! Why, are there other Quarrymen hanging around here that I should know about?"

Broadway shrugged. "Sorry, Lex, I guess we figured Brooklyn told you or something. I mean, he was in the room, and you didn't seem confused about where are intel was coming from."

"You think this is about the intel? I don't care if he's James freaking Bond. The _first_ thing I want to know when I come back home is whether my ex-boyfriend is fucking someone else. _Someone_ should have told me about him."

The reaction was not what he had expected: Matt spit out his Scotch and soda, Broadway and Angela exchanged alarmed glances, and Maureen, Cecil, and Andrew looked embarrassed at how shocked everyone looked.

Lexington cleared his throat and managed to scrounge up enough decency to look self-conscious. "Though I'm guessing from your reactions that you didn't know about them, either."

"Wait a second," Broadway said weakly, "you're telling me Pilgrim and Jamie . . ."

"Um. Yes. That's what I'm saying. Though I'd kind of like to take it back."

Angela leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. "How do you know?"

He suddenly didn't feel like regaling the room with the whole story. "Pilgrim told me. I'm so sorry; I thought you all knew."

"Uh uh," Matt said. "This is the first we're hearing of it."

"Wait a minute," Andrew spoke up. "Can we go back to the part where at least two of you plus Jamie, of all people, are gay?"

"They're not gay," Broadway protested. "I mean, obviously, yeah, but it's not the same thing."

Lexington sighed at his rookery brother's confusing answer. "We default to what humans would call bisexual. But it's not a category because there _are_ not categories. Anthropologically speaking, it's probably a result of our egalitarian society and lack of nuclear family groups. But that's all entirely beside the point and boring, so forget I said anything, and let's move on. Good? Good. Bye."

"Whoa, wait. You definitely don't default to sleeping with Quarryman spies," Matt finished. "So what gives?"

"I don't know," Lexington said. "Pilgrim doesn't even _like_ humans."

"Dude." Broadway gestured to the three IRC members. "Really."

"What? It's true. How can they have spent time with him and not noticed?"

"He was getting pretty good at hiding it."

The humans exchanged glances but said nothing. Maureen looked particularly upset.

Something Andrew had said came back to Lexington, and he groaned. "Oh my God, did I really just out a human?"

Everyone in the room either nodded or raised their eyebrows, or both.

He collapsed into an empty chair. "Great. I'm officially the biggest jerk ever. Now I have to apologize to the Quarryman. _Again_."

"Again?" Broadway grinned. "What'd you do to him the first time?"

Lexington put his head in his hands. "Ugh. You don't want to know."

Maureen cleared her throat. "I think we're all missing the point. This is what I've been talking about all along. I was never okay with trusting Jamie, and perhaps we should be worried that Pilgrim's assessment of Jamie's trustworthiness is not unbiased."

Lexington looked up in surprise. Maureen was new to him, but he hadn't expected her to question Pilgrim's word. "No. Pilgrim wouldn't endanger the clan, not even for a pretty human. Besides, I think Jamie's okay."

"Then why didn't they tell us?" Maureen countered. "And why am I the only one who thinks trusting a Quarryman is a terrible idea?"

"I'm sure Pilgrim has a good reason."

Broadway cleared his throat. "I dunno. I'm surprised he'd do something like that without telling Brooklyn. We should probably let him know."

"But they obviously didn't tell people on purpose. I shouldn't have said anything, at all, and I don't want to make it worse by telling _Brooklyn_."

Angela shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lexington, but in this instance I think Broadway and Maureen are right. Brooklyn should be told."

Lexington groaned and stood up. "You do whatever you think is best; it's not like I can stop you. I'm going to go apologize and do some damage control, okay?"

^^V^^

Pilgrim hesitated on the window threshold.

"Come on, you'll let the heat in," Jamie called from the kitchen.

Pilgrim stumbled inside and continued his hesitation in the middle of the living room floor.

Jamie appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and looked at him carefully. "You don't have to tell me anything, you know."

Pilgrim fought every urge to take Jamie up on the offer. "Nay. I should." At least Pilgrim could see the human was nervous, as well.

"So have a seat."

They settled on the sofa in the most rigid posture possible. Pilgrim found that he couldn't find the right words to begin; every time he thought of a suitable thing to say, he remembered that this could be the last time he could sit beside Jamie peacefully.

"So it's bad, huh?" Jamie asked with trepidation, handing Pilgrim a glass of whiskey. Pilgrim put the drink down without tasting it.

Pilgrim cleared his throat. "Aye. Bad. Listen . . . I . . . lied to you."

Jamie's carefully blank face twitched. "Okay. About what?"

"This is . . . difficult," Pilgrim began. Jamie nodded and waited patiently. "When I told ye that my clan was killed, that was . . . nae entirely true. They were eventually hunted and killed, but when I left them, they were alive. I did nae leave because of any attack on them. I was . . . ." He could not say the word; he was not sure he ever had, at least not in English.

"You were what?" Jamie prompted after a long moment.

"Banished."

A few emotions flashed across Jamie's face; Pilgrim thought recognized pity and fear. "Banished. Like Demona?"

Pilgrim wanted to say that no, he was not like Demona. But he needed to be honest. And it was not up to him to say whose crimes were worse. "Aye."

"Okay." Jamie sipped his own drink. "Go on."

"Before I do, I must explain. No one else knows what my crime was. Goliath knew. He was the only one. It is how it works. It is our custom. If a gargoyle commits a crime worthy of banishment, he may be welcome into another clan if he proves that he has learned his lesson. Usually he must join as a religious figure. That is why I am a priest; not because I have a . . . calling, I think the word is, but because I was required to take vows to . . . to . . . be a gargoyle. To follow our ways, which I broke before."

"So you asked Goliath to take you in, and he did? And no one else knows?"

"They know I was an outsider, and they know that usually means I committed a great transgression. But they are forbidden to ask about it. My life began a second time with Clan Wyvern. For the most part, they are not even curious. Not even Lexington. It is how it is done."

"In their minds, you've paid your debt to society?"

"Aye."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You're asking me to respect that, right? So, okay. I won't bring it up again."

Pilgrim smiled despite his despair. "Nay. That is not what I am asking of ye, but I am glad to hear that ye would respect our customs." Jamie's brow wrinkled; he was clearly at a loss. "Jamie, ye're nae a member of my clan. Ye're human, and a . . . a Quarryman besides. Ye deserve to know about my past. It is . . . relevant."

"And what if I tell the Quarrymen what your crime is? And that your clan is harboring a fugitive, or . . . whatever you are?"

Jamie's eyes shone with a challenge. Pilgrim found it hard to swallow because his mouth was dry, so he drank most of his glass before continuing. "I cannae stop ye from doing that. Or I will nae try, anyway."

"You trust me that much?"

"It is nae about trust. It is about what ye deserve to know."

"I guess . . . I can understand that. So what was your crime?"

The clock ticked too many times in the silence that followed, but Jamie did not break eye contact with Pilgrim. Finally Pilgrim could not stand the wait any longer. "Murder," he whispered.

Jamie nodded as if that was the answer he'd been expecting. With Demona as his only comparison, Pilgrim supposed that Jamie had already imagined a dozen nightmare scenarios. He had some idea of what the Quarrymen thought his kind was capable of, too. Somehow the thought that shocking Jamie would be difficult made Pilgrim feel more confident.

"I killed three human males in the presence of their wives and children," he continued.

Jamie raised his eyebrows and leaned back. "Wow."

"Aye."

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that. I guess . . . why?"

"For revenge."

Jamie stared at him intently. "Go on."

"The humans were different from the ones at Castle Wyvern. They were a tribe, and we lived with them in the forests in the North. We fought with them against the Christians, but our relations were . . . strained, at times, like they were between Goliath and the princess.

"I had a mate, a female, in my old clan. I loved her dearly, and we gave the clan two eggs in our time together."

"Wait, you have kids?" Jamie interrupted. He covered his mouth as if he had not intended to speak. "_Had_ kids, I mean, I guess, if they're . . . Sorry."

"I heard rumors that my clan was killed entirely during the next generation. The . . . children I had likely died with them."

"I keep forgetting that you're like, twice my age. I get the thousand years okay, it's just the lifespan difference that's . . . I'm sorry, it's not important, go on."

Pilgrim smiled at Jamie fondly. "It is important. Perhaps we will speak of it another night. But it is nae my offspring that I speak of now, only my mate. Three of the tribesmen, respected hunters, had come back from battle, and they attacked her. They . . . ." Pilgrim's words caught in his throat, and he saw Jamie tense in anticipation of the rest of the story. He decided the details were best left unsaid. "I did nae arrive in time to save her. It is nae common for my kind to dream, but I often still have nightmares about her screams."

"She died?" Jamie asked, his voice soft and hesitant.

"They killed her," Pilgrim corrected, a hard edge seeping into his tone. "I saw them slit her throat." Jamie opened his mouth, but he did not say anything, so Pilgrim continued. "Tensions were already high between the humans and my clan. The human leader sentenced the killers to banishment. He said it should be our clan's greatest punishment to fit a terrible crime. The humans did banish their own sometimes, but they also killed their own as punishment, something my kind did not do. I demanded their executions. Begged in the end."

"My guess is they said no."

"My own clan's leader would not ask for death because he wanted to keep the peace. They killed for no reason, and they would have been executed if my mate had been a human. Instead they were sent away."

"So you killed them instead." Jamie's voice was strange, distant.

"The night after they left, I hunted them down like animals and I killed them as their families watched. Like they made me watch. I told my clan's leader what I did. I did nae try to hide it. I was . . . defiant. Proud. I knew I would be banished, but I did nae care."

Jamie drew a shaky breath and downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp. "How did you kill them?"

Pilgrim was taken aback. "Surely that is nae important?"

"It is to me."

Pilgrim tried to decipher the tight lines that had formed around Jamie's eyes, but the human's emotions and intentions were bewildering to him. "I tore out the throats out of two of them, and the third—the leader, the one who slit her throat—I disemboweled him with my bare hands. I left him bleeding to death in the rain. It took him many hours to die."

Jamie's eyes fell to Pilgrim's hands. "I see. What . . . ." Jamie cleared his throat. "What did you do after you left?"

"I traveled to many places. I did nae ask to join another clan; I did nae feel worthy. I felt unworthy of anything, even of living. I . . . tried to kill myself one night. Goliath found me, and he allowed me to stay with his clan. That is . . . the end of the story. It is more than I have told anyone since the night I met Goliath."

"Will you answer one question?"

"Aye. Anything."

"And have you learned your lesson? Would you ever kill anyone in cold blood again?"

Pilgrim studied his hands. "I like to think that I would never again. Vengeance did nothing to ease my pain. But . . . I cannae say. I know I would never hurt ye, but if ye were . . . hurt . . . I am capable of killing."

"What about what you told Maureen and the I.R.C., that gargoyles have an instinct to protect humans, that you're not a threat to them? Did you just lie to her too?"

"We do have that instinct. We also have an instinct for revenge, and we try to fight it. We are capable of being monsters, Jamie. That is why I thought ye deserved to know."

Jamie buried his face in his hands. "Jesus, Pilgrim," he muttered.

"I should go, I think."

"Please. I just need some time to think, okay?"

"Anything you ask, Jamie. I . . . ." What could he say? Pilgrim paused by the window. "I will understand whatever ye decide. Please text me if ye want to talk again."

Jamie did not answer, so Pilgrim left.

^^V^^

Lexington finally worked up the nerve to tap on the Quarryman's window. The room was dark, but he assumed the human must be asleep. He decided to wake him up; if Jamie found out during the day that everyone in the I.R.C. knew about his relationship with Pilgrim, it would be disastrous. Lexington wanted to be the one to tell him.

There was no answer, so Lexington lifted the window. It was locked, which surprised him. He expected Jamie to leave an easy entrance for Pilgrim, but perhaps he was worried about burglars.

The apartment turned out to be empty. Cursing his luck, Lexington looked around for clues to where the human could have gone so late at night. Anything would have helped, an appointment in his planner, a phone number, a note . . . an open trunk with some spare Quarryman uniforms, for example, like the one Lexington found beside the bed. The contents were disheveled, as if the human had searched through it hurriedly, and the clothing Jamie had worn earlier that evening were scattered on the floor.

What really worried Lexington, though, was the wire and recording device on the nightstand. The equipment belonged to Xanatos Enterprises—Lexington would know that logo anywhere—and it had been smashed, presumably with the hammer that lay next to the open toolbox.

"Crap," Lexington cursed at the empty room. Whatever had happened, it looked like Jamie had quit his job as the clan's double agent.

^^V^^

To be continued.


	12. Meet Me at the Barricade

Traitors and Spies Chapter 12: Meet Me At The Barricade

Story Title: Traitors and Spies

Chapter Title: Meet Me at the Barricade

Disclaimer: Gargoyles is owned by Disney. This work is protected by the doctrine of fair use.

Recap: Pilgrim, the clan's priest, is in a relationship with former-Quarryman-turned double agent Jamie Nichols. The rest of the clan has just found out about their relationship, and Jamie has found out that Pilgrim was banished from his clan for a heinous crime. Lexington visited Jamie's apartment and suspects that Jamie has now defected back to the Quarrymen. Meanwhile, Jamie's father is plotting to oust John Castaway and become the new leader of the Quarrymen, and he is in possession of a magic lamp with a d'jinn living inside. What could possibly go wrong?

^^V^^

"Oh, how could anyone not love the terrible things you do?

Oh, how could anyone not want to try and help you?

[ . . . ]

Meet me at the barricade

The love died, but the hate can't fade

I'll be at the barricade

The love died, but the hate can't fade."

-"Barricade," by Stars

^^V^^

Chapter 12: Meet Me at the Barricade

^^V^^

Pilgrim had been hoping for some time to gather his thoughts, but upon his return to the castle he found his clan, minus Lexington, waiting for him with somber expressions. 

"What?" He asked, alighting on the stone railing.

"Lexington had some interesting information for us tonight," Brooklyn began. He looked discomfited.

Angela stepped forward. "Brother, please don't be angry with Lexington for telling us, but he did not realize you were keeping secrets from us."

"Secrets? What . . . ah. You mean Jamie." Now it was his turn to feel uncomfortable and perhaps a bit stupid. He had failed to warn Lexington not to tell anyone else, and naturally that was the first thing Lexington had done after his confrontation with Jamie.

"Yes, Jamie!" Angela crossed her arms. "I do not know about the rest of our clan, brother, but I cannot believe you would betray us in this way."

Pilgrim looked around at his clan. None of them looked particularly happy. Hudson seemed sad, and Broadway was shifting his weight back and forth, unable to look at either him or Angela. Brooklyn sighed and stepped back, yielding the floor to his sister.

Pilgrim hopped down from the ledge and held out his hands palms-up in supplication. "I meant to tell ye. Eventually, when the time was better."

She shook her head. "I don't care about the deception. It's just . . . him. Pilgrim, why? How could you?"

"Jamie is a good person," he replied. "You do nae know him as I do."

"Pilgrim, he set the bombs that killed Goliath!"

Pilgrim opened his mouth to speak, but faltered twice. He looked down at the ancient stone floor. "Aye. He helped do that."

"Then how could you possibly become involved with him?"

Her earnest question shamed him. How, indeed, he thought. The answer was simply that he had not been thinking of Jamie as the man who helped kill Goliath. He had given him a fresh start without considering whether his clan would be willing to do the same. "Regardless, sister," he said, unable to meet her gaze, "I think this point may be moot. Earlier, I told Jamie something perhaps I should not have. I do nae think—"

"Pilgrim!"

Pilgrim heard Lexington's shouting from overhead. He searched the skies and finally spotted Lexington diving toward the balcony. Moments later he landed beside them, out of breath and panting. "Pilgrim . . . ." He waved his arms about wildly. "Your Quarryman . . . ."

"What? What is wrong with Jamie?" Pilgrim was instantly alert. He had left Jamie's apartment feeling off-kilter, since he did not know whether the human would ever speak to him again. He hadn't expected an emergency to arise so quickly, however, and now dozens of nightmare scenarios were running through his mind.

"He's gone!" Lex shouted. "He's taken a Quarryman's uniform with him, and he's left behind his phone and wire. Do you think he'd . . . ?" Lexington gestured roughly in the direction of the Quarrymen's headquarters.

Pilgrim's heart was hammering so hard he could hear his own pulse. Yes, he did think Jamie could betray them. It had been a risk all along. But he did not want to admit it, at least not out loud, and not yet. "What did ye say to him?" His kinsmen had filled him in on Lexington's mistake a few minutes ago, and he had been extraordinarily worried about the outcome of any conversation between the two of them, especially after Pilgrim's revelation to Jamie.

Lexington shook his head a few times more than necessary to get his point across. "I didn't have a chance to talk to him. I got there, the place was dark, his uniforms looked like they'd been rifled through, and he'd smashed his phone and wire."

"Smashed? You're certain?"

"Well," Lexington paused and took a deep breath. "I guess it's possible someone else did the smashing and the rifling. I'm not sure. I just assumed, I'm sorry, I just assumed it was Jamie that did it."

Brooklyn interrupted them. "It's possible that he's been found out, actually. He could be in danger."

He could be, Pilgrim thought, but the sinking feeling in his gut told him otherwise. "Let me investigate," he said. His voice was weak, and he felt ill.

Brooklyn strode toward him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Pilgrim? You don't look so great. Look, I'm sure he's fine. If his cover's blown then we'll get him out safe, all right?"

Pilgrim wanted to shake Brooklyn's hand off, but he had to admit that he needed the steadying support. "Nay. I do not think he has been discovered. I think he has quit."

"Quit? Because all along you've been telling us that he's worthy of our trust." Brooklyn sounded on the verge of anger. "And I trusted your word."

"I know. But . . . ." He looked at Lexington, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Lexington's instincts are usually correct."

"But if Lex didn't have a chance to tell him that he'd been outed—"

"Accidentally," Lexington added.

Brooklyn nodded. "Even accidentally, then what changed? What happened between the meeting and now to make him suddenly run for the hills? The fact that Lexington's back in town? Because, even if we are on the subject of your love life, I don't actually want to discuss . . . ."

"Nay," Pilgrim said, to stop that conversation from happening, preferably ever. "The air was . . . clear . . . in that regard. Nay, he and I had a discussion, later, about something else. I fear I may have destroyed whatever trust we had built." He knew he sounded wretched, but he could barely speak by this point. "I must go to him. To be certain. I suppose there is a possibility, as you said, that he is in danger."

"Brother, look at me for a second." Brooklyn stood in front of him and placed a hand on each of Pilgrim's shoulders. Pilgrim, who had been staring at the Manhattan skyline, now had no choice but to look Brooklyn in the eye. Brooklyn had that energized craze in his eyes that he got when he was on a mission. Pilgrim was beginning to understand that this drive was what made Brooklyn a great leader. "I need you to focus for me, just for a moment. I know you're worried about Jamie. I get it, okay? But if something happened tonight and you think he's back on the Quarrymen's side, and if he's really gone to their headquarters, then he's probably going to be giving his father a lot of information about our plans to steal the d'jinn's lamp. Are you with me so far?"

"Aye." Pilgrim closed his eyes for a moment. He could see where Brooklyn was going with this, and he didn't want to hear it. He especially did not want to have the entire clan hear this discussion, but there was no helping it. He opened his eyes again because he figured it would be more dignified to face this problem boldly.

"Then we've probably only got a tiny window in which to pull this off. And I'm sorry, but that's more important than Jamie's safety, or your relationship with Jamie, or anything related to him. This is our clan's and the I.R.C.'s lives we're talking about here."

Pilgrim was already nodding. "Aye. Ye're right. We need to take the d'jinn from Jamie's father."

"Right now."

"Aye."

"And you're agreeing to this, without any argument." Brooklyn spoke as if he didn't believe it was actually happening.

"Brother, ye have put your trust in me for a reason. I will nae put my own needs before the clan's, or before the I.R.C.'s. Ye are right, Jamie cannae be our first priority."

Brooklyn have Pilgrim's shoulders a squeeze and released him. "Good, that's . . . I appreciate that. You were planning to steal the lamp yourself. Are you still up for that?"

"Aye."

"Good. Okay, everyone head out. I know we'd expected to have more time for planning, but you know your places. Lex, get Owen out of bed. We're going to need Puck, preferably five minutes ago. Move out!"

^^V^^

Jamie hid his shaking hands in his pockets as he walked through the halls of the QHQ. He hadn't been here without his wire for weeks, and he only now realized that it had felt like a lifeline. Without Pilgrim listening in, he felt as if he were treading water in a shark-infested sea.

His father had managed to get away with the theft of the lamp without tipping his hand. Thanks to the fact that one of Jamie's father's supporters had access to the security system, all Castaway knew was that thieves had taken his prize and that it was probably an inside job. The identities of the traitors was unknown, and Jamie's father could bide his time until he figured out how to make the jinni work to his advantage.

Unfortunately, this meant that Jamie had to walk past people loyal to Castaway just to see his father, who was in a meeting with Castaway at the moment. Jamie loitered outside Castaway's office as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He was not entirely certain what he was going to say to his father when he emerged from the office. All he knew was that he needed to get away from the clan, at least for some time. He had allowed his loyalties to become so mixed up that he had betrayed both this father and the clan many times over, and he was sick of it. He had to make a decision.

Why had he ever thought to turn on his father, anyway? For a handsome stranger whom he knew nothing about? Until tonight, anyway, when Pilgrim revealed that he was just as ferocious as the Quarrymen said? He ignored the voice inside him that said Pilgrim was not just a stranger, but a person who had trusted him and who cared enough to show him he did not have to be afraid. That voice, Jamie decided, was naive and dangerous.

Jamie had just come to terms with the idea that his father had been right when the man himself opened the door. If James Nichols, Sr. was surprised to see his only son, he did not show it. He smiled easily and waved at Castaway on his way out. "Jamie, good to see you. Tell me about your day."

Jamie made ridiculous small talk with this father until he was certain they were well out of earshot of any person or surveillance device. "I have news," he said.

Immediately his father dropped his easy-going, friendly demeanor. "Obviously. It's not like you to make social calls." He checked his Rolex impatiently. "It's been a long night, son. Please tell me this is important."

Jamie nodded. "It is. Listen. The clan is going to steal the relic from you. They're planning on Friday night. You have to move it now."

His father narrowed his eyes. "And how exactly do they know where it's kept?"

"I had to tell them, I'm sorry. It's complicated, and there's no time to explain, okay? But you need to move it now."

"Complicated? You drop a bomb like that and the best explanation you've got is it's complicated? Where the hell do you get off telling them about the relic?"

"Dad. Focus. The gargoyles have their own resources, you know that. They know who I am, it's not a huge surprise that they'd figure out who you are, is it?"

His father ran a hand through his hair, a habit that they both shared. "You're certain they're moving Friday?"

"That's what they're planning right now. They brought in Lexington, and some strange person called Puck, and I don't think you have a chance against them unless you move now."

"Fine. This conversation is not finished, do you understand? We're going to have a long talk about your loyalties."

Jamie sighed. His stomach had wound itself into knots. "Yes, sir. But the lamp?"

"We'll move it. Do you need to get back to the gargoyles? Won't they notice you're missing?"

"No. I mean, they'll notice. But I can't go back."

His father gave him a sharp look.

"I just can't do this anymore, Dad. I can't pretend anymore. I'll do anything you want, but please let me out of spying on them."

"Where's this coming from all of a sudden?" To Jamie's surprise, his father sounded suspicious.

"I just . . . It's been coming for a long time, okay? Can we just go?"

"Just follow me." His father turned and stalked forward. Jamie had to rush to keep up.

^^V^^

Lexington was sitting at a desk surrounded by three laptops and four additional monitors. He was explaining something in a low murmur to Brooklyn while Puck listened, hovering just above the desk behind Lexington's shoulder.

Puck had not had time yet to explain his plan for winning the jinni over to their side, but they had little choice but to trust him at this point.

Pilgrim cleared his throat. "Are ye ready, then?"

"Yeah," Lexington said. "I've got everything covered from here. All you need to do is get in, get the lamp, and meet Puck back here."

"Understood."

The flight to James Nichols's safe house was nerve-wracking. Pilgrim did not often work alone, but the speed at which the theft had to occur made a solo venture the most reasonable solution. He still had his earpiece in, and Lexington was listening on the other line. Pilgrim felt more confident now that Lexington was back in his customary role.

The rest of his clan would be falling into position at strategic spots nearby, to provide backup if he failed. All he would need to do was call for help, and he'd receive it.

The lamp was being held in a fortified warehouse on the opposite side of the island from the Quarrymen's official headquarters. Nichols, Jamie's father, could not risk posting guards for fear that Castaway would notice the prolongs absence. Instead, he kept the relic under heavy video surveillance and in a safe. That is where Lexington's expertise would come in. Lexington was hard at work dismantling the security protocols from his desk back at the castle.

When Pilgrim arrived, he realized the mission would be more complicated than his clan had anticipated. There were two guards outside the front door, which meant that Nichols was probably inside.

He perched on a ledge across the street, out of sight of the guards. "Lexington," he whispered into his microphone. "There are two humans standing guard outside."

"What? Well, that explains why the alarm system is disarmed. Should we call it off?"

Brooklyn's voice crackled through the line. "Pilgrim, I'm observing you from the west. No, I don't think we need to abort. At least not yet. Can you get inside and tell us how many humans we're dealing with? If you can take the lamp by force, then I think it's worth it. There's no telling when Nichols might convince the d'jinn to assist him, and the last thing we need is a rebel Quarrymen with supernatural help. Are you okay with that plan, Pilgrim? Do you want backup?"

"Nay," Pilgrim responded, hunching forward in preparation for gliding across the street. "No backup. Let me go in alone, and I will count heads. Then we can plan."

He alighted on a ledge next to a window and peered inside. If he could not walk though the front door, as he had planned, then this entrance would do just as well.

Lexington confirmed that the window was no longer alarmed, and he pushed upward with enough force to break the latch. The floor was far below him, cluttered with a maze of crates that had been gathering dust for some time. According to Jamie, the lamp was hidden in a safe, which was itself nestled in a large, wooden crate in the southwest corner of the building.

At the moment, there were four human males in Quarrymen uniforms gathered by that crate. A tarp had been thrown back, and one panel of the crate was pulled open.

At least, Pilgrim thought, he may not have to rely on Lexington's instructions for cracking the safe after all.

He drew in a quick breath when he heard a familiar voice directly below him.

"Do you have an address?" Jamie asked a taller man. Neither of the men was in uniform. Jamie wore the same clothes Pilgrim had last seen him in, and the other man wore a business suit. From the family resemblance, Pilgrim could only assume that he was looking at Jamie's father.

Nichols handed his son a sheet of paper. "Burn it when you're done."

The two humans began to walk toward the safe. Nichols kept a slight lead the whole time.

So, two at the door, then six inside. Pilgrim climbed quietly onto a metal beam that supported the roof. He scoped out the perimeter of the room, making certain that there were no other humans about. He texted the information to Brooklyn, afraid to risk speaking.

He hopped over to a nearby beam to get closer to the safe. If he could drop directly on the group at the right time, when more of his kinsmen arrived to assist, the theft would be relatively easy.

He cleared three support beams, one at a time, without incident. Brooklyn texted back: "On my way. Quarrymen north of here. Broadway and Angela holding them off." Hudson had stayed home to guard Brooklyn's children, and Katana was guarding the south. Only Brooklyn would be coming, then.

On the fourth beam, he slipped. The dust there was thick, and he landed on sharp, exposed screws jutting upward. He managed not to cry out, but he lost his balance and had to grab onto the beam with his hands to keep from falling.

The resulting clang wasn't loud, but it was disastrous just the same.

He was too busy scrambling to regain some leverage to tell where the shots came from, but there was no mistaking the deafening cracks and the sharp pains in his leg and side. He fell just from the force of the bullets and landed on a rotted, wooden crate several yards below.

He almost wished he had blacked out. A piece of wood had dug into his back. Thankfully, the armor had stopped any permanent damage, and the bullet that hit his side had buried itself in the Kevlar. His left thigh, however, was bleeding and felt like it was on fire. He must have hit his head on something hard, too, because his vision was blurry and he felt sick to his stomach.

"Don't move!" A man shouted from a respectable distance. It wasn't a voice Pilgrim recognized. "We're all armed."

As two sets of hands grabbed him and pulled him to his knees, he got a better view of the scene. The four humans with uniforms had surrounded him, each training a laser rifle on him. A few paces beyond, Nichols was reloading a pistol. So that was where the bullets had come from, then.

"What are you waiting for?" Nichols barked. "Disarm him."

One of the humans at Pilgrim's side snatched his dagger and sword from their sheaths and ripped his earpiece from his head. The other human grabbed his phone from the floor where it had fallen.

Beside his father, Jamie stood stock still with wide eyes and a pale face. His hands were at his side and he was visibly breathing hard.

Nichols rounded on his son and pushed him back a step. "What the hell do you call this?" he demanded.

"What?" Jamie looked from his father to Pilgrim.

"Did you set this up?"

"What?" Jamie repeated. "No. They said Friday, they'd attack . . . Friday . . . ."

Nichols gave Jamie another push, this time toward Pilgrim. He stumbled backward. "Do you know what it's like for a father not to know whether to trust his own son?"

"Dad," Jamie gasped. "Please. I swear . . . ."

Pilgrim almost opened his mouth to confirm that Jamie had no knowledge of his clan's mission tonight, but he stopped himself just in time. Defending Jamie would not help Jamie's case.

"I'll tell you what." Nichols shoved the pistol handle-first into Jamie's hand. Jamie looked at it like it was a strange object he'd never seen before. "You want to prove what side you're on? Once and for all?"

"Dad?" Jamie shook his head and glanced around the room. Was he looking for Brooklyn? Pilgrim wondered. For any kind of saving grace at all? For his part, Pilgrim tried to check the windows in his peripheral vision, trying not to give away Brooklyn's position if he did happen to enter the warehouse. So far he could see nothing.

What on earth had happened?

Nichols pointed at Pilgrim. "Shoot him."

"What?" Jamie asked. He took a step backward, closer to Pilgrim and away from his father. He was gripping the pistol so tightly, his knuckles were white.

"Kill that monster. Shoot him. Or God help me, Jamie, I'll gladly shoot you as a gargoyle sympathizer."

Pilgrim's vision blurred again. He struggled not to fall over and wondered how much blood he had lost. He almost hoped he would bleed out before Jamie had a chance to kill him. He could hear the breathing of the humans closest to him, and Jamie's footsteps as he staggered a couple paces backward were unnaturally loud.

"Well?" Nichols asked.

Jamie stared at his father for what seemed like an impossibly long moment. Then he turned around, cocked the gun, and looked Pilgrim in the eye.

Pilgrim had seen that expression on Jamie's face before, on the night they had first met. At the time, Pilgrim had recognized in Jamie the look of a man preparing to kill.

Jamie swallowed and took a few steps forward, trying to steady his hand. When he stopped, with the gun just a mere yard from his face, Pilgrim realized he was going to die. Help was not coming. He exhaled and closed his eyes, bowed his head. He accepted his fate.

He jumped when he heard a click from the pistol, but it wasn't a gunshot. He glanced up. It had been the sound of Jamie disarming and lowering the gun. Jamie's face was shining with sweat. He tucked the pistol behind his back and turned to the man who was holding Pilgrim's weapons. He grabbed the dagger and sword from him instead.

"What are you doing?" Nichols asked as Jamie knelt in front of Pilgrim.

Jamie took a ragged breath and stared at Pilgrim. Pilgrim stared back, eyes wide. Was Jamie going to kill him with his own blade? "This is the gargoyle that stabbed me," Jamie told his father. His voice sounded hollow, emotionless.

"Huh. Well, your choice."

"Yeah. I know." Jamie's voice was softer. He took another breath, deeper this time and less shaky. "Pilgrim?"

Pilgrim tried to speak, but found he had no breath. He tried again: "Jamie."

"Move fast." Jamie dropped the blades, both hilt-first, in front of him.

Then Jamie was on his feet, aiming the pistol at the Quarrymen holding Pilgrim. They let go of Pilgrim's arms in the ensuing surprise and confusion.

Pilgrim blinked, then grabbed his weapons.

Two shots exploded in Pilgrim's ears and he scrambled backward. He had to pull himself up by holding onto a nearby crate, but once he was standing he found himself strong enough to walk.

Brooklyn swooped down and struggled with one of the humans, wrestling the rifle away from him. In the back of the melee, Nichols was backing away. He was now unarmed, having given his gun to Jamie. He bumped into Broadway, who towered above him

"Get Pilgrim out of here!" Brooklyn shouted in Jamie's general direction, as he knocked one human unconscious and dodged shots from the next. Angela ran forward and tackled the shooter. Katana was moving in on another Quarryman.

Jamie pocketed the gun again and ran to Pilgrim, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back. "Can you walk?" he asked.

"Aye, I think so." He was still trying to process what had happened in the last two minutes.

"Come on, we have to go, we have to go now!"

Pilgrim followed Jamie for a few yards before he pulled the weaker human to a stop. "Wait. The lamp."

"The what? No. No way. You need a doctor. Let the others take care of it."

"Nay. I am fine, I just needed a moment. This way."

Pilgrim pulled himself away from Jamie and reversed course, heading toward the safe. He was in severe pain, and his leg felt like it might give way beneath him. Luckily, adrenaline carried him most of the way.

And as he had hoped, the safe was open. He crouched down and snatched the lamp from inside. It was an unassuming, almost disappointing specimen. Gentle hands helped him stand back up. He winced and took a few labored breaths.

"Now can we go?" Jamie asked.

He nodded, unable to speak, and he limped two steps before collapsing in a heap. He threw Jamie off balance, and Jamie went down with him.

"I've got you, don't worry." Jamie tugged at him. Of course, Pilgrim knew he was too heavy for Jamie to lift.

"You there! Stop!" Pilgrim saw two uniformed Quarrymen running toward them, hammers in hand. One of them had shouted. They were the guards from the front door, Pilgrim realized.

"Crap." Jamie pulled out his gun and fired it, but the hollow click told them both that the barrel was empty.

"Go," Pilgrim said, pushing Jamie gently away.

Jamie looked at him. "What are you, crazy? Let me borrow that." He reached over Pilgrim's lap and pulled the sword out of its sheath. Then he struck a very heroic and stupid pose between Pilgrim and the oncoming assailants.

"Jamie, ye do nae know how to use a sword," he said.

"Yeah, well, I'm a fast learner, so shut up."

Pilgrim sighed and looked again at the lamp clutched firmly in his hand. The idea that occurred to him next was less absurd than the prospect of Jamie holding off two armed Quarrymen with a sword, he supposed.

He rubbed the lamp. "Lady? We could use your help. Please."

The Quarrymen reached them. Jamie managed to dodge the first two blows, but the first time he thrust with the sword (in entirely the wrong manner, as Pilgrim had predicted), the larger and more skilled Quarryman twisted his arm and dealt him a solid blow across the chest with the butt of the hammer.

Jamie fell backward onto Pilgrim's bad leg, and Pilgrim shouted and cursed. Jamie rolled to the side and held his arms out in front of Pilgrim, as if planning to use himself as a shield. Pilgrim held his breath and waited for his vision to clear.

When it didn't, he realized that the haze was not caused by his pain. Instead, there was a mist hanging in the air. The lady was standing before them, calming looking around. The two Quarrymen backed off, suddenly uncertain how to proceed. They looked at each other and then took off at a run toward the door.

"You two proud warriors needed my aid with those cowards?" The Lady asked, peering down at them with a quirked eyebrow.

"Aye. And we thank ye."

"Your thanks are worthless. The real question is, can you pay my price?"

Puck chose that moment to stroll onto the scene, sweeping the d'jinn a deep bow in the process. "Well, my illustrious Lady, if you would like to discuss price, you'll want to speak with me."

"And you are?"

"The great Puck, my Lady. And your grace's humble servant. The leader of Clan Wyvern has given me authority to negotiate on their behalf."

The d'jinn cocked her head. "I am intrigued. Pray, continue."

"Naturally, Lady." Puck glanced over his shoulder and made a shooing motion.

Pilgrim took the hint and leaned forward. Jamie helped him stand and he limped slowly to the nearest exit, where Lexington had already arranged a helicopter to airlift him to the castle.

^^V^^

Puck cheerfully followed the d'jinn in her bemused observation of the mayhem in the warehouse.

She stood separate from the fighting and remarked, "These mortals tire me, small fairy."

"Tell me about it! Believe me, I know. I have to live with them." He floated next to her, cross-legged, and watched as the gargoyles methodically gained the upper hand and fled. Matt Bluestone and Elisa Massa showed up just in time to arrest James Nichols, Sr., as well.

"What benefit is it to me to ally myself with any side in this conflict, if no one is capable of paying my price?"

"If it's not too bold, Lady, could I please ask what your price is?"

She trained her dark gaze on him. "I desire the blood of a hundred innocents spilled in my name, and eternal worship from the people of this city."

"Ah. Well, that would be a problem, then."

"Then they truly cannot pay?"

"Hmm." Puck tapped his finger against his chin. "Likely not. My Lady, you are eternal and, I imagine, you have seen many things in your life. These mortals have fashioned a strange, modern world for themselves, and wonderful old traditions like virgin sacrifice and idol worship have gone the way of the unicorn, so to speak. In short, times have changed."

"I see." The d'jinn frowned. "This world displeases me. I find that my peaceful slumber was preferable to this madness. However do you stand it?"

"Oh, it's difficult, believe me. These days mostly I endure it because my lord has ordered me to."

"You have a master, then. I do not." Puck bowed his head in acknowledgment of this obvious truth. "If this world has nothing to offer, fairy, perhaps I should destroy it."

Puck smiled. "I admire your, ah, capitalistic zeal. But let's not be too hasty. I said they could not pay your price. I did not say that I had nothing to offer you."

"You? A fae? Your kind are diminished and weak."

"Well, not entirely, thanks to this gargoyle clan. You see, my Lord Oberon resides now on the Isle of Avalon, and he would be very interested to meet you. I believe you and he could come to some mutually agreeable terms. If I introduced you."

"And I suppose you would like a boon in return for this . . . introduction?" The d'jinn's smile was predatory now, but Puck plunged ahead undeterred.

"Yes, well, that is how the world goes 'round, isn't it? Besides, I have a very simple request. You see, there is an, ah, an individual, to whom my fancy has turned."

The d'jinn laughed, a deep and ancient sound that reverberated off the walls. "You must know that I cannot make anyone fall in love with another, fairy. That is your art, not mine."

Puck cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Yes, well, this particular person wouldn't look very kindly on my sort of enchantment. Anyway, I don't want you to make him do anything. I have heard the mortals here talk of your impressive skill of mind-reading. I was just wondering if you might, well, tell me if it's worth the effort?"

The d'jinn folded her hands in front of her, just below her breasts, and bowed her head ever so slightly. "Very well, fairy. I will peek inside your beloved's heart and tell you whether he might one day return your affections."

"Don't you want to know who it is?"

She smirked. "I have seen your own heart, fairy. I do not need instruction."

"Ah. Yes. Of course, Lady, forgive me."

She vanished.

"Hmm," Puck said to himself. "I wonder how long I should wait."

She reappeared. "Greetings, fairy."

"Oh, hello again." He raised his eyebrows in expectation.

She smiled her snake's smile. "The young gargoyle will be receptive to your efforts. Now, take me to your Lord."

^^V^^

Pilgrim stifled a groan and forced himself to stand. The human doctor who had removed the bullet from his thigh had ordered him to stay in bed, but it was not as if human medicine applied to him, anyway. He needed to survive until dawn, and that would be enough.

He stared out the window at the city. It looked peaceful from this viewpoint, with no trace of the evening's events marring the skyline. CNN was running in the background, muted. The clan had made the news again. The only sounds in Pilgrim's room was the occasional beep of a machine and the whir of a computer. Pilgrim had asked the nurse to dim the lights to help his headache.

He heard the door open behind him. He knew it was Jamie without turning around. He could almost hear the human's hesitation in the way he closed the door, gingerly making as little sound as possible. They had not had a meaningful chance to talk since the battle. The helicopter had been too loud, and the medics had been busy stopping his bleeding on the ride home.

After that, Jamie had been kept out of the room where the humans had performed the surgery, and then Pilgrim had spoken with Lexington at some length. Finally Pilgrim had been forced to ask for Jamie directly.

He turned around and was concerned by Jamie's haggard appearance. The human looked shell-shocked, with some bruises on his face and neck, and his hands were shaking at his side. He held himself upright, but he swayed on his feet a little.

Pilgrim forgot himself and limped forward to help Jamie. He did not make it very far before he winced and lowered himself to the bed. "Jamie," he said, his voice low. "Are ye all right?"

Jamie laughed shortly, more a quick exhale than anything. "I'm not the one who was shot. How are you?"

"I will heal. Ye look so tired. Come here." He held out his hand to invite Jamie to come closer. He expected Jamie to sit in the chair meant for visitors, where Lexington had sat, but instead Jamie joined him on the bed, their shoulders touching. "Are ye hurt badly?"

"Not really," Jamie said. "To be honest, I just had the most awkward conversation of my life with Brooklyn. And then kind of with Lexington. It was rough."

"Oh God, no." Pilgrim covered his face with his hand. "I am sorry. I wanted to speak with ye before Brooklyn got to ye. Was he terrible?"

"He was . . . angry. I guess I can't blame him. I think he just wanted to yell at me for a while. Get it out of his system." He lowered his gaze to his lap and fiddled with the zipper of his fleece jacket. "I didn't realize I'd get you into so much trouble, keeping us a secret."

"Ach. Do nae worry about that. I can handle Brooklyn. And I will see he leaves ye be."

"Still, if I'd known . . . ."

"It was my choice, Jamie. I'll hear no more of that talk." For his part, Pilgrim could not take his eyes from Jamie's face. He was relieved that they were here together, when earlier that evening he had doubted whether this quiet intimacy would ever be possible again. Jamie was watching the news. The announcer was discussing arrests made among the Quarrymen. One of those had been Jamie's father. "I am sorry," Pilgrim said, and took a risk by placing his hand over Jamie's. "I know this is nae what ye wanted."

Jamie's sigh was almost inaudible. "My mom has no idea, you know. About Dad and the Quarrymen. I guess she's finding out now." He turned his hand over and laced their fingers together. "Brooklyn says I need to stay here. Under protection, from Castaway. I can't even go home. He's afraid of what Castaway might do to me, whether I'm on my father's side or yours."

"I am sorry," Pilgrim repeated. Jamie shrugged. When it became apparent that Jamie was not going to discuss it further, Pilgrim changed the subject to the issue weighing most heavily on his mind. "I just want to know one thing."

Jamie cleared his throat. "Okay." He was nervous, Pilgrim observed. He supposed they both were. He summoned whatever anger he could to give himself courage.

"At what point did ye decide not to kill me?"

Jamie sat up straighter and jerked his head to the side to look at Pilgrim. He had evidently not been expecting that question. "Months ago, after a particularly enlightening conversation with Maureen Johnson," he said, his eyebrows raised.

"I meant tonight."

"I know what you meant. I just can't believe . . . ." Jamie laid his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. "I wasn't going to shoot you, Pilgrim. I didn't consider it for a second. I swear to God. Did you really think I'd . . . ?"

Pilgrim put an arm around Jamie's hunched shoulders. "Aye. It looked that way. To me." He remembered Jamie's face and shuddered involuntarily. "Ye looked like a man ready to kill," he said, trying to explain how he had read the situation.

"No, I . . . I was, in a way, I was . . . ." Jamie paused to breath deeply, barely covering the beginnings of a sob. "I was trying . . . to gather the courage . . . to turn around and shoot . . . shoot my father. And then we'd both die because we were outnumbered, but then you bowed your head and I looked up and saw Brooklyn, and I saw a way out, and . . . I still shot someone. Frank Walters, in the chest, twice. I knew he had a vest, and he'll be fine, but . . . ."

"Shh." Pilgrim pulled Jamie into his arms and held him while he regained his composure.

"God, I'm a terrible person," Jamie whispered, his breath hot on Pilgrim's neck. "I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again."

"I could say the same of myself," Pilgrim told him gently.

Jamie shook his head. "No." He pulled out of the embrace and wiped his tears away. "I'm so sorry for running. It doesn't matter to me what you did over a thousand years ago. I know you. And I knew better than to leave, I just got scared."

"I know. It's all right."

"It's not. You're a good person, Pilgrim. You believed in me when no one else would, for no good reason, and I had no right to judge you or be scared of you, or to scare you like I did. I'm so sorry."

Pilgrim shushed him again and pressed their foreheads together. "All is forgiven."

"Just like that?"

"Mm. Get some sleep, Jamie. Sleep here."

"I couldn't, you need the rest more."

Pilgrim nudged Jamie gently toward the pillow. "I do nae sleep in beds. And it is nearly dawn besides. I will stand by the window while ye rest."

Jamie acquiesced, leaning back and covering his eyes with his arm. Pilgrim sat on the edge of the bed for a while so he could hold the human's hand.

"Hey, Pilgrim?" Jamie asked after Pilgrim had thought he was asleep. "We're going through with this, right? Just to be clear."

"With what?"

"With our . . . ." Jamie waved his free hand idly. "Relationship. That's something we both want. Right?"

"Aye, I want that. Ye have doubts?"

"No." Jamie squeezed his hand. "No, I think I just wanted to hear it out loud. Good night. Or good morning, I guess."

"Sleep well, Jamie."

^^V^^

Pilgrim sat near the door of the conference room. The meeting was long over and had devolved into idle socializing. Several prominent members of the I.R.C., Maureen included, were playing cards. Lexington had just bowed out of the game and was packing up his computer.

Owen walked stiff-legged into the room carrying a plain cardboard box. "Lexington," he said be way of greeting.

"Hi, Owen!" Lexington waved cheerfully. He seemed to have no difficulty interacting with the various forms of the shape-shifting Puck and was not phased when Puck persisted with staying in character. "How are you?"

Owen adjusted his glasses. "I am well. I took the liberty of acquiring this for you."

With a bemused smile, Lexington accepted the parcel and cut through the the tape with a talon. "Wow, hey, I've been looking forward to getting this graphics card. I thought they weren't even on the market yet, though?"

"It seems they are for the right person."

Lexington's grin was infectious, and Pilgrim found himself smiling, too.

"Hey," Jamie said, sliding into the chair beside Pilgrim. He must have arrived shortly after Owen. Jamie was still wearing a suit and tie, which meant he had worked late and come straight here from his office. He put a hand tentatively on the small of Pilgrim's back, which was as much physical affection that the human could comfortably display in public, even here among people they knew well. But Pilgrim was patient, and never pressed for more until they were alone. "What's up?"

"We are all pretending not to watch Puck flirt with Lexington."

Jamie squinted at the pair, who were now awkwardly discussing the clock speeds of the newest microprocessors. "That's flirting?"

"I think it is for Owen, aye."

"Huh. And you're okay with that? With them?"

Jamie sounded nonchalant, but Pilgrim knew that Lexington was still a sore subject. He was quick to reassure his mate. "Aye. It is a relief, really. Broadway is running a betting pool, did ye know? He can give ye good odds they'll still be dancing around each other by Christmas. I placed my money on the day after Thanksgiving, though."

Jamie snickered. "I'm going to take the high road and change the subject. I came to steal you away to have dinner at my place. Unless you've already had breakfast?"

He hadn't, of course. Pilgrim always waited to see Jamie before he ate, on the nights he knew they would both be free. "I have a different idea, actually," he said, hesitating. "I think we should have dinner with Maureen."

Jamie's face fell, and he dropped his voice. "Are you crazy? That's gonna be incredibly awkward."

"Nay. She invited us. I think she wants to talk. Maybe make amends of some sort. And I think we should go. Ye were friends once. It pains me to think ye will nae have that again."

Jamie sighed. "I don't know. I mean, I'll go, I'm just not sure it's going to do any good. I don't even know what to say to her anymore."

"Mm. Did ye nae mention a particularly enlightening conversation with her that changed your opinion of my clan?"

"Yeah," Jamie said reluctantly.

"Well, start by thanking her for that. I for one am thankful for it."

Jamie looked taken aback at first, then smiled.

"What?" Pilgrim asked.

"Nothing, I just . . . ." He leaned forward and gave Pilgrim a quick, chaste kiss. "That's all."

^^V^^

The End.

^^V^^

Author's Notes:

For whatever bizarre reason, when my brain heard the song "Barricade" by Stars, it began to invent the character of Jamie. I did not have it in me to make this story as dark as the song, but I still consider it my chief inspiration. Here are the full lyrics:

Trapped on the terraces, I looked at you and knew

You were the only thing that mattered

There was no one for me but you

In Harmony Street we beat a man

Just for standing there

I held my breath as I watched you swing

Then run your fingers through your hair

Oh, how could anyone not love the terrible things you do?

Oh, how could anyone not want to try and help you?

In Bermondsey, in Burberry

You held me at the barricade

The pigs arrived with tear gas

And I wept at the mistakes we made

We stalked the streets like animals

And danced as windows shattered

For the island, for the thrill of it

For everything that mattered

Oh, how could anyone not want to rip it all apart?

Oh, how could anyone not love your cold, black heart?

I found you on a Saturday

And that was where I lost you

You had to finally walk away

Because of what it cost you

Years later when I saw your face

In line to catch the morning train

You looked like you'd been softened

Like you never really loved the pain

Oh, how could anyone not finally diminish?

The thrill of blood comes instantly

There's only darkness at the finish

Meet me at the barricade

I'll be at the barricade

Meet me at the barricade

The love died, but the hate can't fade

I'll be at the barricade

The love died, but the hate can't fade


End file.
